Burn in Hell
by abracadaver
Summary: Dean wakes up in a abandoned town, Sam hasn't seen him in weeks, and what does Lucifer want with Dean, the Vessel of Michael? Raising the most important question, What is going on with Dean?
1. Chapter 1

He hadn't seen him in days.

Hell, it might've been weeks or months, but certainly not years.

Maybe it had been only an hour since they had last talked, his eyelids where still heavy, though he had just awoken in the shabby motel room. He sat awkwardly on the edge of the bed, waiting for his equilibrium to set in and for the room to stop spinning so vividly. Closing his eyes he swallowed bile, grimacing, maybe he'd been sick and that was why he had been laying down.

_God, what a nasty taste._

He thought as he opened his eyes, the room was no longer spinning, he got up and walked to the desk across the small room and sat down immediately, catching his breath. Crinkling his eyebrows in confusion he then felt a sharp pang in his side, lifting up the gray shirt he saw the medical rapping.

_Oh that explains it, dammit._

He slipped on a pair of shoes, pulled on the leather jacket on the back of his chair; he stepped in front of the mirror before exiting the motel room. He had dark bags under his eyes, his normally vibrant green eyes were diluted and his normally tanned skin was pallid. He breathed deeply, succeeding in only coughing, deep breathing pulled at the wound on his side. Cursing under his breath and grabbing the doorframe for support.

_Dammit Sammy, where are you? _

He stepped outside and the sight was offense. The parking lot was vacant, minus the few cars that were left in it. One was upside down and the windows all broken, the others were in a similar condition. The ground was littered with newspapers and trash of all kinds, the buildings across the street had there windows bashed in and it was clear that, on this street at least, no one was living here. Some of the building looked like remnants of a massive fire, while others looked as if they'd suffered flooding.

He blinked his eyes a few times to adjust to the outside lighting, hoping if he'd blink a few times maybe the view was change, hoping it was just a hallucination.

But before him was a wasteland, it was like something out of a resident evil movie._ Except there's no hot warrior chick…_

To make things even worse his Impala was AWOL. He was stranded, and by the looks of things he'd been here a while. The question was why? And how did he get here? Where and what is 'here'? Most importantly, why isn't Sam with him?

Dean ran a hand through his hair, agitation.

He sat on the bench, before he started exploring he needed to sit, his side was on fire, clenching his teeth he pulled up his shirt again and looked, there was no bleeding but, damn, did it burn like hell. Pulling the shirt down, and stewing in anger at his incapacitation, he shifted in the bench, something in his jacket pressed into the opposite side. He reached in the pocket, pulling a cylindrical orange bottle.

_Hey _he smiled in self-achieved victory. _Pain Killers…Vyh-co-den…_

He sounded it out in his head. Vicodin.

_Ha ha! Like my man, House, poppin the pills like a wrote a fake prescription._

He tossed back about three of the tablets.

His smile faded as he stared back at the abyss, spread out before him.

"Where the Hell am I?"

He woke up fast, like he'd been electrocuted. He looked around suspiciously, huffing slightly, trying not to act as if he'd been startled. Sam let out a breath and tried to calm down, leaning back into the seat of the Impala. He still had to find Dean. Sam opened his eyes and looked back out the rain drizzled window, the neon lights of the Shady Lady Motel flashed every few letters, but not consecutively.

Sam pulled out his cell phone, no new calls. Biting his lips, he was anxious he hadn't seen Dean in two weeks, since the incident. And though he didn't want to admit it, but Dean might be gone. The circumstances of his disappearance where…well, not odd, but…Supernatural. "No." Sam stopped thinking it. He'd find Dean; he had to be there for him, after all Dean had been there for him. Hopefully he'd find him in time, before it was all over. "Yeah, I'll find him. Okay, Sam think." He told himself out loud, he smirked and laughed at himself a little. Shaking his head, his unruly dark hair falling into his face. "Yeah, I'm sure I'll figure out where in all of the places he would've been sent…" Tensing, he tossing his phone onto the seat next to him. "I'll just pick up my phone and call the douche bag. It's not like I have Lucifer on speed dial."


	2. Chapter 2

**DEAN**

"Fuck"

It slid through his lips like breath, it was almost a natural response – he didn't even think he just said it. "God, I could go for a damn burger and a cold beer…" The image of a chilled El Sol appeared behind his eyelids as he closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the eroding wall of the motel, his mind torturing him with desires he could not fulfill. His mouth twitched, he could feel the effects of the sedatives wearing off. He had no car. His side was seriously complicated, so walking was definitely out of the question – well it wasn't, just the thought of it was too painful to consider at the moment. The pills where out, there hadn't been too many in the bottle anyway.

It was mid-afternoon and though the sun should've been offensively masking his face with heat waves and his clothes would've been sticky and uncomfortable. The atmosphere was quite the opposite; it was subdued – overcast with a slight chill in the air.

The space between this eyebrows crinkled, his expressive eyebrows furrowed and a half upside down grimace flashed across his face as he pushed himself up. His walk was a tortured crawl as he made himself to the bed; he collapsed into it – fighting the urge to let his pain that caused his exhaustion to evolve into sleep. The bed was so comfortable…

He ignored it. God that will power was evil sometimes. He needed a phone book that was the quickest way to find out where he was and where he needed to go.

He bent down to grab it out from under the nightstand, having momentarily forgotten the wound that had left him stranded in the shit motel.

The pain was hot. Like a metal poker from the fire, it shot through his side, up his arms, over his chest tightening his muscles as it went, making breathing much more difficult, the skin at his side tensed then as if it was happening all over again the pain burst into flame. It felt like something was ripping through his skin, layer by layer. He bit his tongue; metal filled his mouth and dribbled out red, onto his shirt.

His eyes dilated, the green turned almost gray and the whites of his eyes pink and watering, he hit the ground paralyzed, huddling painfully in a fetal position – breathing heavily he pulled himself back trying to push past the pain, squeezing his sides now to try and cancel the pain signals. He moaned a little, and began to feel the effect of his pressure. He rolled over onto his back, now groaning loudly, annoyed. He laid there a minute, glaring at the ceiling, trying to control his breathing and get it back to a slower, more normal rhythm.

"Son of a Bitch!" He half yelled as he tried to sit up, spitting red and wrapping an arm around his middle. Leaning against the bed he then sled an arm over to the bottom shelf of the bedside table, pulling out a tattered phone book.

After a ridiculous amount of minutes, Dean found a Hospital address : "Slightly Way East 125666" He also found he was in Saline, Nebraska – a small county in Nebraska, practically a small town. The hospital was two blocks away, held his breath and stood up, his face turning red.

He stepped out into the refreshingly chilled air. _El Sol…_

Dean's normally unruly brown hair was flattened to his head, and he had not noticed till he stepped outside but he was sweating.

_Maybe I have a fever…Wouldn't be __**fuck'in **__surprised…_

His side had been bleeding on and off since had fallen off the bed. If he turned the wrong way, he'd pull the skin attempting to heal and it'd begin the bloody process all over again. He made his way down empty streets, the same post apocalyptic scenery, destroyed buildings and trashy streets. It was like downtown Detroit, minus the wholesome hookers that made a night just _so _much more comfortable…

His luck wasn't looking up as he finally reached the Hospital, it hadn't been an expressively large building but it was big enough for a town like Saline. Or at least it was. The white building, or previously white building was dirty with blacks, browns, and dark reds, it was so unbelievably filthy looking it all looked almost strategically placed. Part of the Building had collapsed earthquake or arson or god knows what. The windows, he noticed as he walked closer, where ghosts of glass – all shattered and jagged, in one of those clichéd horror movie type ways.

The taste in his mouth was intrusive, and made him really want something to wash it down with. _ A God Damn El Sol…_

He stepped into the vacant hospital building, deciding to stay away from the end that was falling apart – his problems were too many as it was.

Gurneys were overturned; fluids spilled everywhere, staining the once white linoleum. It was obvious there had been some sort of struggle or chaos within the place, maybe some sort of riot. Dean tightened his lips and frowned a little, he continued his search for some medical supplies. But it was all just speculation. It was sudden, a rape to his nostrils, making him cough and then making him stop. It smelled awful, like a uni-sex restroom in a gas station on a Florida/Georgia game weekend – owned by a trucker who thought speaking grammatically correct to be a hobby. It just smelled awful. Dean's nose crinkled, he pulled his shirt collar up over his nose in an attempt to filter away the smell.

Eventually, his nose becoming accustomed to the stench he found a cabinet of undisturbed medical supplies. He slid off his jacket and placed it onto a nearby table,. Gingerly, he peeled off the white shirt to reveal, what would've been a usually tanned lean torso, but the mysterious wound was there and his middle was haphazardly wrapped around him in an attempt to stop the bleeding or maybe just to hold in all his insides from falling out. He pulled off the last of the bandage, not really glancing at it he pulled off a bottle of antiseptic and some peroxide – Dean decided to just go with a fast approach to this wound. He went to pour the peroxide and almost dropped it, he placed it back on the shelf. He was almost afraid to move or touch himself.

It was his wound.

It was circular and deep, just shy of the width of a teacup. The skin was pulled outward like something had pushed out from underneath it. Most of the blood had dried now but the skin pulled out was tough and black at the ends. The center of the whole, or rather the inside of it still looked squishy – the tissue was dark red, almost black The surrounding skin, the little adipose tissue that he had was turning black as well. Like it was spreading. Now the 'what' that was spreading, he didn't know. And it smelled. It smelled like it was dead, decomposing tissue. There was no conceivable way for Dean to stitch or clean this, he didn't even know how nor did he have the tools to do so or the energy to find anything. He grabbed some antiseptic spray and sprayed it, wincing. He quickly put on the bandages, and pulled back on the disgusting shirt and his jacket.

He left the Hospital. Now that he had dealt to his wound, he had to focus on finding out why he was here. The last thing he remembered was…was…

_The last thing...I was with Sam..no..wait, maybe…fuck man I don't know…_

He headed to the quick mart across the street, deciding to self-medicate himself into oblivion.

**SAM**

Bobby gave him one of those annoyed looks, he always graced Sam with.

"Now your sure Dean isn't dead, Sam?" He pulled his baseball cap down further onto his forehead. Same clenched his jaw, huffing, and tightening his lips in irritation. "Look, Bobby I know okay, I mean.." Sam breathed in quickly and quickly shifted his position here and there, as if his feet hurt, and he furrowed his eyebrows. "I'd…I'd…just know, okay?! I mean, I'd feel it, I can't explain it, but I just know. He can't be dead." He was embarrassed, and would not look at Bobby in the face. Bobby stared at him silently through slitted eyes as if he was listening intently to something. "Alright."

That was all he said. Sam was grateful; he was awkward sharing emotions with his hard ass brother, it was harder with Bobby. It was just a guy-thing, expressing emotions was like trying to pass a kidney stone.

"So Sam, Do you have any idea where Dean might even be?"

"Well no I don't. But maybe we can pull up some information, strange weather occurrences within the last few weeks or strange deaths. When I disappeared a Demon had taken me. If he's in the same position maybe the Demon left a trail."

"You mean like dead cows or something?"

"Well no, not exactly that. But yes. Like weather unusual for the time of year or constant types of weather. And if this Demon has managed to keep Dean somewhere for over two weeks, it's a badass, which means there'd definitely be a trail, Sulfur."

Bobby wasn't looking at him, but past him.

"I think we have a bigger problem than just some Demon, Sam."

Same turned recognizing the familiar monotone, Castiel stood in his usual garb of dress pants, white button up, striped tie, and tan overcoat.

Sam mirrored a Dean expression, raising his eyebrows in interest.

"We're not just dealing with some demon. But THE Demon, remember the last seal you broke? Yeah well Lucifer is out and he's after your brother."

"What!?" Sam yelled. "That doesn't make any sense, Dean isn't even the vessel of Lucifer, and I am." Sam looked like he was about to punch something.

"Dean is in a small town called Saline; it's located in the middle of Nebraska. The town's been deserted, No one really knows why, but about two months ago – yes two months ago right around the time you broke the seal – the entire town went missing, completely over night."

The room was quiet. Sam's eyes where wide, filled with guilt and apprehension. "So Dean, is he okay?"

"I don't know. For obvious reasons I can't even get near the area. So that is why I've come here." He stepped closer to same his dark eyes intense. "You have to go. I don't know what Lucifer wants with Dean, but it obviously cannot be good."

Castiel stared at him; he knew the possible results of sending Sam into Lucifer's nest, so to speak. He was the Vessel, and all he had to say was yes and the world would plummet to its unstoppable end. "You must not say yes, though, regardless of the circumstances."


	3. Chapter 3

The wind was deafening and his eyes watered, the light was brighter now. He couldn't see Sam anymore, which made him anxious, "Sammy?!" He yelled, his voice was dulled out by the white noise. His ears began ringing, and he fell to his knees, hands over his ears, he squeezed his eyes closed. Eventually he could here nothing, when he opened his eyes he saw movement and what should've been sound accompanying it. He still didn't see Sam. He tried to get up but the pain in his side was paralyzing. He looked down, blood was everywhere and a metal rod was still stuck in his side. The wind must've loosened it from somewhere within the cabin. Yelling loudly, though his voice could not be heard through the wind, he yanked out the rod, pulling part of himself off with it.

He laid there, unable to move, but his mind screaming with panic for his little brother.

That's when he saw it.

A figure and it was approaching him, it was too short to be Sam.

He moaned loudly, his lips quivering as the pain from his side snaked up his arm to his neck, face, and head. It was blinding, rolling onto his side, his body completely broken. The Figure was now standing over him. He was burning up from some unexplained heat. He hugged his center and felt the warm blood from his side on his arm.

The figure leaned in closer, a slender hand reached out and caressed the side of his face, and lovingly it began to hum "hush little baby", while stroking the side of Dean's face. It was like what his mother did before tucking him into bed at night and telling him "Angels are watching over us." It made coo-ing noises at him, his eyebrows contracted in confusion, he tried to talk but he had no voice. It touched a finger to his lips.

"Sleep Dean, my child. You will be safe in my arms."

He should've been comforted, but the pain in his side, the wind, and the unbearable heat made him squirm, the voice didn't sound comforting. It made his hair stand on end, the figure faced him again, what he saw made his green eyes widen…

He sat up fast and regretted it.

His vision went black and he suddenly felt immensely dizzy. He lay back down on the motel bed. Blinking trying to rid his eyes of the black smudges and dots in his vision. He felt light headed from all the blood loss. Dean had returned to the motel the night before, grabbing a comforting bottle of alcohol upon returning.

His mouth felt dry, he licked his lips and realized how puffy they were, he stood up slowly and made his way to the bathroom. In the mirror he saw puffy red eyes with huge purple bags under them and swollen lips and a reddish bruise on the right side of his mouth. He must've missed the bed and hit the bedside table harder than he thought last night. He turned on the sink splashing his face with water, his side still hurt of course, but not as blindly as it did the say before or as half as bad as it did in his dream last night.

He realized he was remembering, or his subconscious was trying to aid him in the process.

He cupped his hands under the faucet and drank a handful of water, gulping deeply he stood back up and stared at his reflection. Thinking.

"Man Dean, Have you royally fucked it up now." He said to himself, his deep voice surprising even to him, having not heard it in so long.

Stepping out of the bathroom he started thinking about how the hell he was going to get out of this shithole.

Well he had no means of communication, he'd tried the phones already and they were dead. He started to consider hot-wiring a car, when a familiar voice made him tense.

"I can help you."

Dean stopped, tensing up. He turned around, next to the bathroom doorway behind him had been a woman, standing there. She smiled.

She was a petite, slender thing with long blonde hair and a sinfully beautiful face. She wore a black tank top and skintight black slacks that accentuated her sensuous curves, hooker-heeled boots made her stand a little taller. She had perky lips and a rack to match, and wide green eyes with a tan complexion.

Dean was almost distracted by her physical appearance, but he started to think with his head again.

"It's you." He said bluntly, while stepping back from her.

She just laughed at his timid behavior, taking several steps closer to him, so close he smelled her. Uncomfortable, he gave her a leveled glare.

"You're the one in the Cabin."

"Well this 'one' has a name, sweetheart."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Karen."

"Well isn't that a little too "Little House on the Prairie" for a demon bitch like yourself, you were putting off some serious waves lady." He smirked and stepped closer looking into her green eyes. His eyes intense, he got an inch from her face. His smile slightly insane, he spoke: "Now, You can go tell your little demon friends I'm going to kill every last one, of you sons of bitches and I don't give a shit what Lucifer sent you here to say. So why don't you get your 'I wish I was Buffy the vampire slayer reject demony fugly ass' out of my face before I level you right here?"

Her smile widened, she stepped closer, lips inches from his and spoke, tilting her head as she did. He blonde locks falling over her shoulder and the strawberry smell smothered Dean. "Why don't you just stop kidding yourself, baby? You know you want this leather tight ass, why not take it?" she slid her hands over his shoulders, pressing herself against him. Letting her lips brush against his and settle on his neck.

Dean clenched his jaw, trying to put his hormones in check. Attempting to push her away, without much effort. "Where is Sam?"

She laughed, her breath cool on his neck.

"He's fine, for the time being…" She slipped her hands over his shoulders and down his chest to the top of his pants. His hand grabbed hers.

"What'd you mean for the time being?"

"Well, let's just say your brother's fate is resting in," She squeezed his hands, "These capable hands…" She leaned into him again, he tensed trying to stay focus, but was a greater challenge as she kissed him. "What'd you…what'd you.." He tried to put out a sentence, but it would come, well the sentence wouldn't at least. She stopped.

_Thank god I don't know how much more I could've resisted of that._

"Well basically Sam is the vessel to Lucifer, this you know. But what I'm sure you don't know is. That you could be equally as good, and much more..." Her hands went to the top of his jeans again. "_Satisfying_…" emphasizing the last word. He scoffed a little, pushing her hands away.

"What made Lucifer think I'd let _his_ slimey ass inside me if I wouldn't let that holy bastard's, Michael in me?"

Her face-hardened.

"Look, if you do it. Sam is Safe, Michael won't want his body and if Lucifer has yours then it's enough."

"Enough for what?"

"I've had enough of these semantics. Look if you don't agree to this, then Sam will die right now."

Dean studied her face, she was serious, it didn't make any sense why Lucifer would want him instead of Sam. But she didn't look like she was about to tell him either.

He started to speak and she cut him off. "No questions, if you want Sam alive you will say yes."

He grimaced and tensed his jaw.

"How do we finalize the deal, a kiss?"

She laughed, her smile bright and her green eyes wide, stepping closer to him again, she ran her slender fingers under his shirt pulling it off over his head. She stared at him mischievously, pulling away the bandages he didn't wince and when they were gone so was the wound. He looked from his side to her fast.

"Selling your soul to the devil requires a bit more of a physical transaction than a kiss, Dean." She pressed her lips against his and ran her hands through his brown hair. Realizing the complete point of all the foreplay now, he rapped his hands around the thin waist and roughing threw himself onto the bed on top of her.


	4. Chapter 4

When he awoke his body ached, but in a good kind of ache, the kind of ache that one could only experience after a highly productive night before. His whole body was buzzing, from the tips of his fingers to his toes, endorphins still pumping through his veins. His eyes didn't need to adjust; the room was still dark, slivers of light shone through a set of blinds to his right. He no longer smelled the strawberries, and realized he was alone, in a tiny twin sized bed?

_It seemed bigger last night…_

Squinting one eye, surveying the differences he also realized he was still in his shirt, pulling up the blanket he realized his briefs were still on too, and the wound on his side was actually gone as well. He remembered last night, it definitely had happened. It had been far too vivid to be even considered to be a hallucination or a dream. Thinking, Dean sat up against the bed board, the buzz he'd awoken with was starting to ware off. So he closed his eyes, letting his mind replay the last night. He smiled faintly, letting the small smile morph into a toothy smirk.

He felt her cool breath on his neck, soft lips over his chest moving pleasurably slow, and a painful arousal as her nails dug into his shoulders and they…

He should feel dirty. Un-clean and evil, a monster himself. That had been a demon last night, but it had also been inside a helpless girl's body.

He was still trying to remember the thought process that let him so easily decide to make the deal with the bitch, why hadn't he argued or tried to kill her? He had complied too easily. But he hadn't hated it, far from it in fact, which is what scared him. He had felt liberated from his persona as Dean Winchester, he was only a feeling last night – completely engulfed.

He opened his eyes, his stomach made a rumbely noise and he realized how pathetically hungry he was. "Son of a Bitch, How long has it been since I've ate?"

He stood up, grabbing his jeans off the floor and in doing so he noticed the complete change from last night's scenery. The Carpet was green now, no longer red, there was nice furniture, a TV, and the sheets were even a different color. Scanning the room in the pensive confusion he saw a small sack, dumping it out revealing some of his clothing. He pulled a wrinkled black shirt from the pile, discarding the bloody white one into a nearby wastebasket.

When he opened the door to the outside he was greeted by a warm sun on his face and life bustling around him. He stepped out, foreign to the gay atmosphere, locking the door behind him he headed to the receptionist building, to see if he had any mail or could get any information to where he was. Which was surely NOT Saline, Nebraska.

The lady behind the desk was short and stout, like a brown haired teacup with a troll doll obsession, they littered the desk.

_There are two things I will never understand people enjoying plane rides and troll dolls._

He shivered slightly by the Doll's creepish demeanor.

Through a some what annoying and drawn out conversation with the woman, she had made clear that her name was Sandy and that she wasn't named after the character in Grease but that the character had been named after her. Dean found out he'd been staying at the motel for over two weeks and that he was currently in Waldo, Florida.

Among other things than it's ironic name, Waldo was a Speed trap a straight away between two towns that made it's income by traffic tickets.

Since Waldo being as small as it was, Dean walked to the nearest Diner.

Food on his mind.

He ordered the Breakfast Lover's Combo; which consisted of a six stack of pancakes smothered in maple syrup, a side of sausage, a side of bacon, a side of hash browns, and a side of scrambled eggs – which Dean promptly order another side of eggs after finishing.

He leaned back in his chair, completely content and so full of food he may not eat again till later that night…maybe.

After paying the check with some many he'd lifted from a man's back pocket on his walk over to the Diner, he asked where the nearest phone was. Finding out it was in a store across the street, a tiny bookshop called " Case's Book mine".

Dean entered the store, practically lifeless, besides the owner who was barely visible behind a stack of books.

"Hello? Uh, Excuse me, Sir. I need a phone." Dean looked over the stack.

"We do not sell phone here."

Dean laughed a little.

Okay smart ass I think I might've figured it out, when I read the sign that said BOOKMINE.

"But you may use my phone if you wish, it's at the end of the aisle to your left, by the restrooms."

The phone dialed forever. Finally the line picked up and he was greeted by the gruff southern tinged accent. "Hello?" It asked irritatedly.

"Hello, Bobby." Dean said, he couldn't help but smile.

"Dean?! Where'd the hell'ev you been?!" He demanded.

"Well it sure as hell wasn't Kansas. Hey Bobby, you wouldn't happen to know where Sammy is, would you?"

"Hell if I do. He left two days ago to find you, that angel buddy of your stopped by and said you were in danger and sent Sam after you."

"Dammit. Well if you hear from him again tell him I'm in Florida, Place called Waldo. Can you do that for me Bobby?"

"Yeah sure," Dean started to hang up the phone. "Dean!" "Yeah?" "You sure you're alright?" Dean licked his lips and frowned a little, the space between his eyes crinkled. "Yeah Bobby, I'm fine."

Dean headed back to the front of the store and outside; on the sidewalk next to the book mine entrance was a newspaper stand. He grabbed a free paper and leafed through for some form of entertainment as he headed back to the motel, wait for a call from Sam.

"**Another girl disappeared Sunday night. Authorities have yet to find any evidence to suggest abduction, all doors and windows had been locked from the inside and there was no sign of forced entry. The only anomaly in the room was a pentagram burn mark on the rug. Parents insist they have no idea how it got there.**

**Samantha Feldman says it's been three weeks since her daughter Toni mysteriously disappeared from her bed, under disturbingly similar circumstances…"**

He stared at the article for a minute.

"Let me reiterate, Freaky shit happens in Florida…"

The article continued to smash the local authorities and later suggested alien involvement and a strange connection to a 90s television show, X-files.

When Dean got back to his motel room, he had decided not to return the key after all; he pulled out a fake ID from his bag. "Who am I today?…Special Agent Dave Evans." He laughed. Dean figured if he was going to be in town for a while, why not at least keep himself entertained. He was about to leave the room again and he stopped, his chest was pulsating. He exhaled sharply and grabbed his chest, coughed slightly and as soon as the stitch of pain came it went.

Hands rested on the backs of his shoulders, the strawberries had returned. He turned slowly toward the Blonde. She smiled up at him.

"So how're you liking the powers of darkness, Winchester?" She asked, eyes slited and a wry smile playing on her lips.

"Excuse me?"

"How else do you think you returned to full health so easily? Think of it all as an insurance policy, your health and your soul."

"Insurance for what?"

She bit her bottom lip and stared up at him seductively. He stared down into the green eyes that were mirrors of his own. That's when he felt it, something squirming in the pit of his stomach and explode, the blood in his veins pumping so fast you'd think he was doing some intense cardio. She rested her hands on either side of his neck, noses almost touching. He was hungry, so hungry it was deadly.

He was hungry less in the literal sense, but in the figurative way – his body ached for Karen's touch. It was scary how much she affected him just by her presence.

"Now Dean, Honey, Are you ready?"

"Ready for what?"

"Your Ascension."

There was a burst of bright white light, and then Dean Winchester was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Sam parked the Impala in front of the only motel in Saline, Nebraska. He hadn't heard from Castiel since he'd dropped the tip of Dean's location. Pulling his bottom lip into his mouth, eyes squinted in nervousness of the situation; his face was etched with uneasiness as he pushed the cracked door all the way open.

_Dean I swear if you're dead I'm going to bring you back to life and kill you myself._

There was nothing in the room that showed any previous characteristics of habitation. He continued down another few sets of doors, all the same. He reached one, the door wide open. He stopped before he reached the doorway.

Exhaling, closing his eyes he attempted to keep himself calm. He turned into the room. Scanned the room, bed sheets pulled back and off the bed, he glanced at the carpet it was red but next to a nightstand was a tattered phone book and a dark stain. He stopped, turning his head a little to make sure it wasn't a trick of the light. Sam walked closer and bent down, touching it. At first it was hard, but upon farther pressure it broke from it's hardened surface. Pulling his finger up to his face, it was reddish brown and sticky, before he'd even pulled it up to his face he'd smelled the metal. His breath hitched, he stood up quickly staring at the blood on the ground, panic started to break his resolve as it pumped through him. "Stay calm, Stay calm, he could still be alive. There's no body…" He glanced around again and made sure there was no set of fit sticking out of anywhere.

Pursing his lips and standing in the empty room he finally decided there was nothing more for him to see. He began to exit the room, shoulders squared and irritated that we was still no closer to finding his brother, pulling out his cell as he walked around the bed he stopped. Underneath his boot was a brown leather jacket, picking it up, there was no contest it was Dean's. His chest filled with air he seemed to not even be breathing, because there was no air – he wasn't obtaining it. Apprehensive he glanced the room again. "Dean, where are you?" There was no reply of course, Sam left the room, throwing the jacket into the Impala as he got in and pulled out. He hit the interstate fast, he'd already done recon throughout most of the small town, and there had been no one. He pulled out his cell, as he drove dialing Bobby, there was no answer, swearing he threw the phone harshly into the set next to him. He gripped the steering wheel tighter.

* * *

"Where are we?" He demanded, he gave her hard eyes. "Oh, Don't look at me like that." She gave him a look of contempt, she circled the room her black boots clicking rhythmically as she went. They stood in a kitchen, where Dean didn't know, but that really wasn't an issue right now. She leaned against a counter, crossing her arms she watched him from across the room. She looked at him without any discernable emotion upon her face and just waited. His movement was fast, she raised an interested eyebrow, and he held an automatic level with her head. "What the hell have you done to me?" He looked like he was about to kill her. He was definitely considering it. She exhaled, rolling her eyes, after a minute she stared down the barrel of the gun then at him, their eyes locking, and her face stern. "You really haven't figured it out have you?" He scoffed. "You know Sam _really_ is the brain's of the Winchester operation, isn't he?" It was rhetorical, he just responded by clicking the hammer backwards on the gun. She started to pace on the other side of the room, completely ignoring the gun – as if she looked down the barrel of one everyday. "Dean, Dean, Dean…You are just clueless aren't you, completely oblivious of what has transpired?" He responded, unfazed by her presence.

"How about you elaborate, bitch."

"You've always been the big brother. Your job is to protect your little brother, to help and take care of him. That's all you ever had to do. You couldn't of course, because your only Dean and well lets face it your brother is Sam! Sam Winchester..." She laughed a little; he didn't twitch, but continued to listen.

"You know I bet I could count the amount of times on my hand Sam has needed you. Well you, I'd need a scoreboard. All you've ever done was hold your brother back."

"Are you going to get to the point anytime soon, because this monologue?" Dean smirked, tightening his grip on the gun. " I've heard it before, and I got to say I care about what you're saying as much as I did when I unloaded my gun into the last demon's head afterwards." Smirking she continued. "Dean, the brother with the broken psyche. The brother with so much baggage: desperate, sloppy, needy Dean. You know, that is all you've ever been, you've clung to Sam and your Dad, when you lost him. Whew! I got to say, I thought you were pretty close to going full dark side; that bloodlust you had was…for lack of a better word, delicious." Licking her lips she continued. "What surprises me is that you've yet to notice the change."

"Excuse me?"

"How many times since you've been out of that abandoned town have you actually worried about Sam?"

"What'd you trying to say?"

"What I'm trying to say, Captain Oblivious is this, when you sold your soul to me, which by the way if you'd yet to figure out who I work for then you're beyond help. By selling your soul to me, to him, you believed in him and let him into your heart – he's in your soul dean. Now all those many imperfections in you, which held you back are no longer an issue- you're as strong as or more so than Sam. He's the stain that never comes out. "

"So what, you're saying that I'm Lucifer?" he asked in disbelief.

"No," She stopped pacing and stared straight at him. "But you will be."

"Wait, I sold my soul to him, I'm going to hell, I accept that. But he can't be me because then that would mean he'd have to use me as a vessel. I'm not consenting to that Son of Bitch."

"You act like this is a surprise. Dean, he owns you directly, this isn't just some demon, it's _Lucifer_. As far as things are concerned I don't even think he needs your consent."

Dean flexed his jaw muscles, clenching his teeth and percing his lips.

"And what happens if the messenger had an accident? Heh. Pucker up and kiss your ass goodbye." His finger tensed on the trigger.

"Shoot me, I mean if that's what gets you off. Which we both know, what really gets you off…"

"Shut up."

She pushed herself up onto the counter, crossing her legs and tucking a strand of blonde behind her ear, she continued. "You see Dean, Lucifer can have multiple vessels. Sure Sam is _the_ Vessel. But that doesn't necessarily mean he's the best on out there. Let me put this in terms you could better understand." She inhaled deeply and began. " _Yellow-eyes_ as you like to call him, had Sam as the designated leader of his demon army. And yeah he was all Pro-Sam, RAH RAH!" She did a mock cheer, pumping her arms in the air. "But what everyone so conveniently forgot was this, Lucifer has had all his chips in one pot from day one, you Dean."

"Why would he do that and want me over his number one vessel-to-be?"

"Because, you're a screwed up person Dean. Jeez, I mean your like a billboard for Gluttony and Lust, and your personality flaws, you're a freaking sociopath. I mean look how easily you throw me around, I know you don't have any feelings for me, it's all about domination. You've never had any control in your shitty life, so you use me, it's sick Dean. I mean, personally I think it's hot, but ethically and morally your one twisted Son ofa-"

"You know as much as I love this little Dr. Phil sessions with Demons, I don't. And you still haven't told me why I'm so much more desirable to the devil."

At this she laughed, jumping off the counter she was in his face in seconds, the gun on the ground. "You are the vessel of the arch-angel Michael, the only one ever to stop Lucifer. So if you can vessel an arch-angel, the most infamous and most powerful one of all – Imagine the possibilities…"

"I won't let him, I'll fight it. He can own my soul and send me to hell. But I am not letting him use me as a meat-suit."

"Earlier you asked me what I did to you. I told you what Lucifer has done, he's made you perfect. You can kill anything and anyone and I promise you'll feel no remorse and you'll never need again, you'll never be weak-"

"You mean a monster."

"Semantics, Dean."

He stared down at her, she was still in all black her long blonde hair, bouncy, his eyes looked her up and down; his mind had begun to wonder since she'd been in such proximity with her.

"Why Dean, Is that Lust in your eyes?" She slipped her hands around his neck. He quickly pushed her away from him as he had begun to fell the effects of the night before, stepping far back from her.

"What'd you do to me?"

"Do you mean, why are you so attracted to me? I don't know Dean, maybe it's that look in your eye. You should really consider, getting a hold of those urges. It very un professional."

He frowned, that's it he was going to shoot her – he'd heard all he needed to know; he clicked the trigger. And the white light enveloped him.

Dean Winchester stood in the motel room in Waldo, Florida once more. Karen was gone.

He looked into the mirror across from him, he froze, and blinking his eyes a few times he looked again. He must've imagined it, but he could've sworn his eyes had been all black.


	6. Chapter 6

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** So I've yet to actually discuss what happened before Dean woke up in the abandoned motel in chapter one. Don't worry it's coming up in, if not the next chapter, the one right afterwards. I have a rough idea of how long I want to make this fan fiction, but due to my rather unpredictable mind I don't know if what I'm assuming to be the end as a finalization of any kind. And as far as what will happen next, I already have a plan laid out, so expect the next chapter to not be far behind.

**F66 – **take a minute to realize the symbolism here. It's fairly obvious, really.

* * *

The door was a faded red, at some point it might've been a prouder color, but the years of battling the outside elements had shown. In the center of the door was it's number, in a gold color that was fading to a cheap copper underneath. F66.

That was the room number, an unsettling number at that. Sam stood on the second story of the motel, staring at F66 – swallowing, his throat was still dry so it stuck uncomfortably and he ran a consciously nervous hand through the brown mess atop his head. Sighing, rather dramatically, he reached forward to knock, his hand centimeters from the door and then pull his hand away fast, shoving it back into the pocket of his tan jacket. He'd proceeded in doing this over the last fifteen minutes or so. Shifting his weight back and forth on either foot, Sam looked anywhere but the door in front of him.

He was apprehensive, not knowing what he may find behind door 666 or what he might not find. It had been a month now since he'd last seen Dean, and not knowing what had happened to Dean in that time since, frightened Sam. Sam was scared with what was behind the door, it was frustrating, but a legitimate fear. Also the fact that opening this door, may once again reveal a cold trail, and what if his brother wasn't behind the door?

If it hadn't been for Bobby's call, he'd have missed Dean – that was if Dean was still here. Sam took his hands out of his pockets, flexing them at his sides, attempting to air them out due to the sweatiness. Sam continued to obsess over this door, until he jumped suddenly, a bright white light shown like a lighthouse beacon from under Dean's door and the door shook by some unknown force. Seized with a sudden burst of adrenaline he pushed the door down in reflex, yelling his brother's name while doing so.

Dean's eyes where still fixed on the mirror, expecting to see the offensive image that had surprised him. The crash of the door breaking open behind him had changed his focus, turning around he saw the familiar huffing and confused face of his brother, Sam.

Dean looked around, eyes squinting, disoriented and slightly lightheaded; Dean dropped the gun in his hand as his knees began to give way. Sam was there in an instant, his arms under Dean's, holding him up. "Dean! Dean!" He yelled trying to keep Dean conscious. Dean turned around; gripping Sam's Shoulders to pull himself up – shaking his head slightly trying to gain back his equilibrium. When his knees reverted from jello to normal again he let go of Sam, but the instant he did, Sam's arms were closed tightly around Dean. Dean stood still, slightly out of it still, his mind computing all the recent and now current events. Slowly, anamatronically, his arms moved up and hugged Sam slightly in return, patting his back awkwardly. After a few pensive minutes, Sam finally let go of Dean, but reluctantly – not wanting to loose his older brother again. Sam's hand lingered on his shoulder a bit afterward, he just smiled into Dean's face, overcome with happiness to be reunited with his brother.

"Dean, man it's so good to see you." Sam gave one of his lopsided grins. Dean gave a small smile. His heart swelled up, like a sponge to water, he suddenly realized he was happy and relieved to see Sam alive and well.

"Sammy…" His mouth moved a little afterward, he searched for words, but none would come. So he just stopped trying and smiled. After a minute or two of this understanding silence, Sam broke it.

"Dean, Where have you been? I've been looking for you for over a month." Dean's eyebrows furrowed slightly, as he sat on the bed behind him. "Honestly, I just woke up about three days ago. Before that I remember the cabin and the bright light and the.." His voice faded. Sam raised an eyebrow, sharply turning his head he leaned closer toward Dean. "And the?" he repeated.

"Nothing, I can't remember really. But I'm fine now." He stood back up, meeting Sam – he slapped his chest. "Everything's good now Sammy, we can continue looking for the Colt." Dean flashed a cocky smile that he hadn't worn in a while, and smiling mischievously. "And maybe we can get laid a few times in the process." Sam smiled slightly, but then became serious again.

"Dean what happened?" He persisted.

"Nothing Sammy, if something happened I'd tell you. Nothing happened, I was out for a long time and I woke up. End of story, now let's go get some food – I'm so in the mood for a 'pig-in-a-poke'." He smiled widely and held out his hand. "Car keys? I'm sure you drove her down here."

Sam frowned, tossing the keys to him. "Dean, Castiel warned me, he said you were in serious trouble, that Lucifer had you."

"What? No way, if Lucifer had me do you honestly think I'd still be here talking about 'pig-in-a-poke'?" Dean asked mockingly as he opened the motel door behind him. "Castiel warned me not to say yes, maybe he meant for me to tell you not to say yes. What should you not have said yes to, Dean?"

Dean could tell Sam was concerned, but he didn't want to deal with it right now. And this was his cross to bear, he wasn't telling Sam, there was no need to, all that would come out of it is Sam trying to make a deal to save Dean, not wanting that succession of events Dean decided to stay silent.

"Dean what did you say yes to?"

"Jeez, Sam do you really want to know what I said yes to?"

"Yes, Please." He spoke in staccatos, percing his lips.

"I couldn't help it Sam, she was just so pretty and I was so horny. So I said yes, threw abstinence out the window and-"

"Dean! I'm serious."

"Okay, so I was never abstinent but –"

"Dean!" Sam stared angrily at Dean's childish deflecting.

"What'd you want Sam? I didn't meet Lucifer and I wasn't in any situations where saying yes or no was a weighted decision!" Dean half-yelled, tired of Sam's pestering, just wanting to get back into the routine he'd so desperately clinged to before all this mess.

But this is what bothered him, he didn't really care about it, well he did, and then he didn't. His emotions were conflicting as if there were two Dean's inside of him. One wanting and needing Sam, glad to finally be together again. The other Dean, was annoyed and beyond caring about this pointless and self-inflicting relationship.

Sam stared at him hard, looking for some sign in Dean's face – a break, like he may tell him what he wanted to know. Seeing none, Sam finally exhaled and walked over to the door, this told Dean he'd won.

For now…

Thought Sam, he wasn't letting this topic drop of the face of the earth.

It was like a family reunion, Dean's faced was plastered with the biggest smile as he walked up to his Impala. "Hey, you miss me baby?" He tapped her lovingly on the hood, as he stepped inside it, his hands rubbing the steering wheel. He leaned back into the seat and let the smell of the old leather fill his senses. "Cause baby I missed you."

Sam had stepped in and smirked at his brother's ridiculous love for the car, "You two need a room?" Sam asked mockingly, quickly falling back into the playful banter with his brother. Dean laughed a little and rubbed the steering wheel again as he pulled out and drove down the road, "Don't listen to him baby, He's only jealous of our love."

Sam and Dean ate at the Small Diner in Waldo, Sam was planning their exit from the pathetic speed trap, and Dean looked up from his enormous plate of food to interrupt Sam. "Whoa, man…" he said while chewing the remains of his Bacon Cheeseburger, he took a swig of a generic beer he'd ordered at the diner. " We got a case right here." He then proceeded to put the large amount of French fries he held between his fingers into his mouth, like eating chili fries. Sam grimaced but grinned at the same time, as disgusting as Dean's table manners where, he'd missed his brother's corky characteristics.

"Okay what is it?"

"I don't know," Dean responded, smirking and giving Sam a 'what're you stupid?' Face. "That's why it's a case Sammy, it has yet to be solved." Sam just huffed and smirked shacking his head as he swallowed his coca-cola. Dean ate a few more French fries, then continued to talk as he dipped one in ketchup. "You know, _you'd think_** a **_Stanford education_ and a high school hookup rate of _0.0_ would produce smarter questions than that Sammy."

"Hilarious" Sam rolled his eyes and stole a few of Dean's French fries. "If you'd let me finish, you'd have realized what I meant when I said, 'what is it?' meant what is the case about?" Dean frowned a little at him and raised his eyebrows, then shrugged his shoulders as he finished off the last of the fries.

On the drive back to the motel for the night, Dean updated Sam on what he'd read in the newspaper, Sam agreed it deserved to be looked into, so he grabbed his laptop from the trunk of the Impala as they headed upstairs for the night.

Dean hit the hay early, pulling off his shoes, socks, and shirt he flopped into the bed pulling up the blankets as he began to immediately doze off, snoring soon afterwards.

After about an hour of dean's symphony of snores, Sam gave up on research, closed the laptop going to bed too.

It was about 3 am when Dean woke up, he sat up quickly and looked around the dark room. No one was there, but he could've sworn he heard talking – that's what woke him up. He started to lie back down, when he saw a shadow move across the window from outside. He didn't tense; unfazed he slipped on his boots, half-heartedly tying them up. He left his shirt on the ground somewhere, walking to the door and closing it silently behind him. He wasn't surprised when he saw her. He had practically expected her out here, though he didn't know why.

He frowned a little and considered returning to his bed. Sensing this, she spoke.

"We have something we need you to do."

"We?"

"Yes, so what'd you say?"

"What do I say? I say screw yourself you horny demon bitch."

He turned to go back inside, stopped his frown deepening as he saw she'd moved in front of him, in front of the door.

"Karen I'm not dealing with this shit tonight."

"Well how else are you going to get your rocks off?" He could see the sin in her grin as she closed the space between them.

"Paper view, its called 'Casa Erotica'" He attempted to push her away, but she didn't budge. "Playing hard to get tonight, huh dean?" She pulled down on his bare shoulders with her hands, and standing on her tiptoes she kissed him. Hot electricity surged from his lips and throughout his body; he had her pressed against the wall in seconds. He kissed her harshly and desperately, trying to stay quiet, Sam was just on the other side of the wall. Her hands ran through his short mess of brown hair, his hands were holding her face steady to his. After minutes of this desperate act, Dean broke for air, his eyes dark and lustful, she grinned, touching his face.

Karen touched his face lovingly, like a mother or a beloved wife, being not even close to either of those things. Dean looked at her, hungrily and she knew the night was far from over now. She could so easily manipulate Dean, though Dean no longer had any of the petty human needs and issues – which she was sure he'd still yet to realize. Dean still maintained his sinful qualities, more so now than before, no longer balanced by the more human qualities and worries. His hands still held her face firm, close to his, his breathing was heavy, his chest moved up and down fast. She continued to smile to her masterpiece, and that masterpiece stared back at her with those hungry, carnal and savagely desperate black eyes.

Though she was sure it didn't even know this.

Dean wanted to stop, that was what he was supposed to want, right? He wasn't suppose to want this. He clawed at her, devouring her and soaking in this blasphemy – in this Sin. He couldn't find his will to stop.

_God help me._


	7. Chapter 7

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **Chapter one is the aftermath of supernatural season 4 finale. After the bright blinding white light that appeared after Sam broke the final seal, leashing Lucifer upon the world. The bright white light takes Sam to the plane (season 5 ep 1) but Dean wakes up in an abandoned town instead; weeks later. And that's where "Burn in Hell" begins. So to clear all the confusion of how Dean ended up in the abandoned town, and yes I know I changed it a little they were in a cabin (like in season 1 finale) instead of the church at the end of season 4.

Also Bobby is not in a wheelchair.

[RIP JO HARVELLE.]

* * *

It had been two months now, since Dean and I where reunited. I had missed him so much, the constant searching and the uncertainty I went through in that month long separation was agony. All I wanted was to find Dean again and have everything go back to normal, so I could finally feel whole again. Family was everything, and Dean was all I had. That's why upon finding my brother I was overwhelmed with so many emotions I felt like my psyche was going to explode! But in the two months that followed, since the night I'd found him in Waldo. The uncertainty that I thought would've left me, only grew. In those passing months I was even more apprehensive and questioning. It wasn't like he was different, well he was, just not in the big way, but in little ways. Things he'd say or do something It just made me uncomfortable, like something wasn't right, there was something I just couldn't put my finger on it, it was like searching for the right word to say in conversation – it's always on the tip of your tongue, but you just can't say it.

Well I couldn't figure out what exactly was different, but there was a difference. It was small enough to make you wrack your brain over it and never figure out what it is, but big enough to stop you dead in your tracks and question the situation.

* * *

He emptied the remnants of the silver flask into his mouth, cringing slightly at the warm burning sensation creeping down his throat and into his stomach. He deposited the empty container back within the inner pocket of his leather jacket. Sam stared at him with a cocked eyebrow. "I though we don't drink before 10?" Sam asked mockingly as he pulled on his pair of pumas. Dean glanced over at him as he ran his hands through his light brown hair, making sure none of it was flattened to his head. "It is past ten." The right side of his hair was flat, due to his sleeping position the night before. He then ran his hand back and forth fast on the side to stick it up like the other side, it worked, a little. He shrugged a little, seemingly satisfied.

"Ten at night Dean, not after 10 am." Sam was walking out the motel door with Dean, pulling on his brown zip up.

"Hey, you're the one who didn't go on the Coffee run Sammy, had to get my 'pick me up' else where." Dean pulled the gear out of park and into drive, backing up and heading down the road. Leaving Houston far behind them.

"So where are we headed now?" Dean leaned back into his seat, turning slightly to look at Sammy, a boyish grin split across his face. "Las Vegas?" Sam responded with a scoff and a "You wish."

The Dialogue between the two was muted, Dean continuing down the straightaway, his speakers blaring some un-identifiable mullet rock. Sam was staring out the window at the dehydrated plains of the Texan wilderness. He pulled from his thoughts by his Cell phone ringing; he pulled it from his pocket. "This is Sam," He waited for a response.

"Hey Sam, this is Ellen. Look, I could really use some help on a case, I think we got a lead on the Colt."

Sam responded quickly, suddenly sitting up straight, letting her know he and Dean had just left Houston an where headed toward the west coast.

"Well turn around sweetie, I need you up here in South Dakota." Sam smiled; it had been so long since he'd heard the motherly southern twang of Ellen Harvelle.

"Yeah, Dean and I will be up there, definitely. But, Ellen, who tipped you off about it?" Sam's eyebrows crinkled together, frowning slightly.

"Well Jo and I ran into a guy who knows a guy who knew a crossroads demon who wants Lucifer out of the picture permanently. Said the demon was looking for the Winchesters."

"Wait that doesn't make any sense, why would he want Lucifer dead, Isn't he like the god to all demons?" Sam asked in disbelief.

"Hell if I know, Jo has a plan though, so head on up here and hopefully we'll have the colt by midnight tomorrow."

Sam hung up shortly after that, Dean turned down the music, glancing at Sam as he continued down the vacant road. "Hey we're going to want to turn off at the next exit and head for South Dakota."

"Why?"

"Because we just found the Colt."

Dean closed the bathroom door behind him; once more he and Sam had found their selves in another shitty trucker motel. Dean splashed water onto his face, he was still breathing rough. He felt like he was on fire, like he was overheating. It was sudden like early on set menopause, except he wasn't a woman. He grabbed the back of the muscle snug black shirt and pulled it over his head. He gripped the sides of the sink, glaring at his reflection, soon finding himself lost in his dark green eyes, he'd been staring at them so long now, they looked black.

"You can't escape me, Dean. You're gonna die. And this. This is what you are going to become!"

He blinked fast, rubbing his eyes; he stared back at himself, at tired red-rimmed green eyes. He sighed, and sat on the edge of the linoleum tub, running a hand slowly over his face. He'd heard that voice, his voice; constantly say that at him in his dreams, it was unnerving.

"Hey Dean, I'm going out to meet Ellen and Jo, get the skinny on this case, you coming?"

Dean mumbled something about feeling sick, told Sam to go on without him and he'd catch up later, he didn't remember what Sam said in response. Now his head was killing him, he rubbed his temples. He'd been feeling weird all day, since he'd woken up this morning, like he was experiencing a bad hangover mixed with the early stages of the Flu.

He slipped his jeans off, only in his black boxers he stepped into the shower, turning on the water ice cold and letting it run over him. He leaned against the wall, eyes closed, letting the cold cool him.

He felt his consciousness slipping. And just as he was about to slip down and into the bowl of the tub and just sit up against the wall, he then felt a hand, scolding hot burn against his face. His breath hitched, green eyes florescent in wide-eyed surprise. He pulled away and then clumsily pushed the shower curtain back and stepped out of the shower. "Go away." He said in a dry monotone. He wanted a towel but his head was in such a fog he couldn't remember where they were at and it just seemed everything was moving too fast for him to understand. He grabbed the side of the sink.

What the fuck is going on?

The small hand held out of black towel, he took is and dried his face and neck, now looking at her. She gave him one of those pissy looks Ruby used to give him, her arms crossed over her chest and her blonde hair falling just bellow the elbow.

"What?" He pushed past her, back into the room.

"I told you that we have something we need you to do, Dean." She followed him from the bathroom, standing to the side of the doorway. Dean shoved through his duffel for some clean clothes, changing right in front of her. She rolled her eyes as he buttoned his jeans, she was at him in seconds, hand on his neck, he just stared down at her with emotionless eyes. They stared at each other for a long time, then her frown broke into an evil smirk.

"It's happening isn't it?"

"Excuse me?" He shoved her off him, she let go of his neck and stepped back again, still smirking. He glanced at her as he pulled a gray shirt, pulling the necklace out from underneath the gray.

"You need more, I'm sorry I haven't been around in a while to dose you." She pulled a knife from her pocket and cut at the middle of her arm, holding it out to him. He pulled away from her in disgust. "What the fuck are you talking about you twisted bitch?"

She narrowed her eyes, once more she was in his face in seconds, arm at her side now, and he looked at her face, but could see the crimson slithering down her arm. She smirked again, putting a hand against his face, and letting her fingers linger at his lips as she leaned forward. He inhaled deeply, leaning towards her, she stopped him.

"Why do you think you've been stronger, that you've been able to go so long without sleep or had any real needs for anything other than that gun, and that knife in your duffel you've been favoring lately for your commitments of mass carnage?"

This time his eyes narrowed. "What're you saying?"

"What I'm saying _shortbus_ is that you've been drinking demon blood for over two months now and reaping the rewards. Sure you don't have special psychic powers like team Xavier but your definitely pulling through on the team wolverine."

He pushed her away by her shoulders, considering the analogy she just represented to him. He didn't know whether to be mad or what, his head hurt too bad and the temperature fluctuations in his body were to overwhelming for any real thinking, he leaned against the wall, wanting to strip down again, his hand compressing against his forehead. He didn't hear her move, he rarely did, but he could feel her presence inch from his, a finger touched his lip, it was wet, he pushed her hand away – about to tell her how much of an annoying whore she was when he tasted it. His head was clear and when he saw the room now it was like someone turned on the lights and he was watching HD video quality through his eyes.

"See?"

She cut again, this time at her wrist, she stepped forward holding her wrist an inch or two from his mouth. He swallowed and stared at her in pensive disgust, clenching and unclenching his hands. She huffed slightly, annoyed with Dean's indecisiveness her pressed her wrist to his lips.

He was suddenly biting her, drinking in the red liquid, sucking deeply, his hands madly gripping her wrist to his lips.

All his flu and hangover like symptoms where gone, he was clean despite the small smear of blood on one lip.

Dean pushed her wrist way, with all his self-control, he wouldn't look at her and he wanted to hurl. His hands in his hair, on his head in seconds, he slid down the wall and sat broken on the ground. His eyes where everywhere, but looking at nothing.

She knelt down in front of him.

"Your going to need more than that, your going threw withdrawal Dean."

She said this, like he was just some common drug addict, like what he was doing wasn't the most shameful act on the face of the earth. That he wasn't doing what Sam was doing just last year with Ruby. He felt like he should be crying or angry or something, anything.

Why can't I feel anything?

He was overcome with anxiety over his lack of humanity. His lips quivering, the space between his eyebrows crinkled together.

The demon touched his face, pulling it up to look at her's; she looked stern and slightly annoyed at this display of weakness.

"Whatever, that should hold you for a while longer anyway." She then let go of his face, pulled his up by his arms and pressed him against the wall. Now wearing a sensuous smile, she leaned into him. Cocking her head to one side she stared up at him, pulling his face towards her's. "Now, remember Dean you belong to us, to Lucifer now." He looked subdued; he didn't try and move because he knew If he was this close to her, it was a wasted effort. "Now you have to kill her. If you don't Sammy will be the first to go," Dean started to protest, but it was a weak effort, regardless of how much he wanted to – she had to much power of him.

When she didn't have about any effect over me when she first appeared…

"Jo Harvelle, Dean."

She gave him a weighted stare. His lips parted in surprise.

No.

"Yes, Dean. Its either her or Sam."

She ended the conversation with a kiss, lingering on him longer than needed afterwards, only to make him even hungrier. His hands rested on her waist, holding her to him, they were lying on the carpet, and her blonde hair tossed over one shoulder. Dean up, lips connecting in a lustful kiss. His hands ran up her back, pushing her completely against his chest, gripping her shoulders.

"What the Hell is going on here?"

Dean sat up quickly, arm still around her waist, she sat across him, smirking, and Dean looked and just now realized her eyes where black. He pushed her off him quickly to get up, grab the pistol off the nearby table. Bobby's gun shifted from her to Dean quickly. "Don't you move either you evil son of a bitch!"

"Bobby chill, I'm just grabbing the gun."

"I know that you idjiat." His rough southern voice boomed. He cocked the hammer of his gun.

"Now if you don't sit down right now you black eyed bitch ass body stealing scum, I'll tear you a new one."

Dean froze.

"Excuse me?" Dean said, his voice was rough, his face in angry confusion.

"Bobby I wasn't –"

Bobby threw salt at him. Dean just frowned, nothing happened. Dean crossed his arms and stood still, deciding to let Bobby go through the motions of checking him out.

"Here let me just do it for you."

He pulled a silver knife out of his duffel, cutting his arms.

"See I'm fine."

"Far from fine if you got black eyes, son." Bobby glared at him from under his tattered baseball cap. Gun still aimed at Dean.

"Okay, last thing then." He pulled out a flask of Holy water. Dean sighed, at the pointlessness of this test.

"Bobby, the silver knife is killing two birds with one stone. The Holy water unnecessary."

"Just do it."

By now the Blonde stood up. "Don't you move I'll blow that pretty little head off."

Dean glanced at her, she raised an eyebrow towards dean. "Don't forget Dean."

Dean blinked, she was gone.

He looked back at Bobby who looked about as confused as him.

"Who was that?" Bobby asked in accusing curiousness.

"The biggest pain in the ass since judgment day."

Dean un-screwed the top of the flask, he held out his arm and poured the water over his arm. He screamed in pain, dropping the flask and pulling back his burning arm.

Dean pulled back the smoking arm, his eyes went black and he grimaced. Bobby's grip tightened on the gun. Dean sat on the motel bed, teeth barred, his gaze moved unhumanly fast towards bobby.

"Bobby I don't know what the hell is going on."

Dean's eyes pleaded, and faded back to a humanly hazel color. Sam couldn't know.

And neither could Bobby…


	8. Chapter 8

SAM

_It wasn't dean._

DEAN

Dean stared up at Bobby, all he could hear was his own breathing, he squeezed his eyes closed, opening them again; he found himself staring at the ceiling – the lights were flickering and he couldn't seem to focus on anything.

-bump.

His heart, pounding in his chest, his breathing deepening, becoming more erratic. He could hear the blood in his ears.

"Dean." The voice was commanding and deep enough to merit his focus, Dean looked at Bobby again. This time, long enough to remember his situation…

He saw me with Karen. I can be burnt by holy water…dammit. Sam. He's going to go straight to my brother. He can't know, this would kill Sammy. Dean thought.

The blood pounded harder, Dean groaned, grabbing his head he bent over, he could hear Bobby's voice now, but couldn't tell what he was saying.

Through the monotonous throb of the blood and his scattered attentiveness he heard the voice, clear as water and as loud as a marching band.

"Kerosene."

Then, everything went black.

* * *

Cheating hell had been a feat that had been considered,an impossibility. Well, no longer. In fact it had been so for about, going on two years now.

Her curved lips split into a sly smirk, her grip tightened on the expensive leather steering wheel, her sharp foxy features bright in the moonlight, hair whipping wildly behind her as the cherry red convertible ripped down the Vegas strip. Her grip, tensing further on the wheel, the engine revving and picking up even higher speeds.

Bela had cheated death and stolen back her time from hell. Of course she knew she'd end up there eventually, but no time in the near future, of course.

Her attention not pulled from the road stretched out in front of her, she moved one hand to the seat next to her, flipping open the top of her purse, grabbing her cell phone.

Holding it in front of her, against the wheel she checked the GPS.

She was far from her refuge back in Portland, Oregon; it had been a place of salvation but also a prison to the young woman over the past few years.

Though she'd manage to cheat lilth on her deal, and especially now that lilth was dead – she had no need to worry about hellhounds on her tail. She had stayed safe over the years by barricading her self within an apartment in Portland; the walls had been covered with elaborate charms of protections and binding spells, keeping her hidden from supernatural forces by using the supernatural against itself. As an extra precaution she'd tattooed known Tibetan protection charms on either wrist, encircling the thin wrists like bracelets.

She tossed the GPS back down into the seat next to her into the Chanel bag, her foot becoming lead on the gas pedal; she'd reach her destination by lunch tomorrow.

* * *

"I still don't know why you insisted upon driving Sammy." Dean said through mouthfuls of the bacon cheeseburger.

"Because you look like crap, Dean." Sam said sternly, his voice hinted slightly with worry – eyes not leaving the road.

"Oh, well thank you." Dean said mockingly, "But you know, you don't look so mountain fresh either, Jumbo."

"Excuse me?" Sam responded, looking at dean, a smirk playing across his face, then looking back at the road, head shaking slightly whilst laughing a little to himself.

"Sammy I'm fine. Now will you go a little faster? Jesus, grandma," he motioned to the car behind him. "Is about to go 'flight club' on your ass if you don't push past 40 soon, dude."

Sam gave him an annoyed look, but then pushed the Impala up to 50 mph. "Oh yeah we're flying now, Sammy." Dean rolled his eyes and finished the last of the burger off in one viciously large bite. Before Dean even said what he wanted, Sam grabbed underneath the driver's seat and tossed Dean a bottle of water, an obviously recycled bottle.

"Aww Sammy, I get all tingly when you take control like that," Dean gave him a playful smirk as downed half of the bottle.

"Dean, this is serious." Sam Stated very matter of factly.

Dean raised his eyebrows at Sam and frowned a little, "He's probably fine, Sam."

"Dean, he said he was going to meet us there." Sam voice started to get a little louder, Dean could feel and argument about to start.

"And unless you talked to him, Cause I sure as hell didn't, he never showed and never called me back to tell me why he suddenly couldn't make it." Sam said with finality, in his frustration Sam had started to drive faster, leaving the old woman in the Buick far behind. Dean gave an obnoxious laugh and popped in a cassette, Black Sabbath. Sam looked over at Dean from the corner of his eye. "What?" Dean continued to laugh a little, "It's nothing, just," he laughed a little more. "Maybe Bobby found an incredibly generous hooker. You know, the kind into a little 'old man' if you know what I mean.."

"No way, Dean. This was about the Colt, no way Bobby would get distracted with some cheap whore, now you on the other hand.."

"Ey!" Dean replied defensively.

Sam responded, his voice in competition with Dean's. "All I'm saying is that it's the end of the world, Dean. Lucifer has a meat suit, the horsemen are being raised as we speak – so I'm pretty sure he's a little more worried with the impending apocalypse than getting his rocks off." Sam finished this statement almost yelling.

Dean just frowned and decided not to respond, instead he leaned down lower in his seat and closed his eyes.

"What're you doing?" Sam asked sharply.

"Fucking Paris Hilton, what does it look like I'm doing?! Sleeping Sammy, So could you possibly shut your pie-hole for a little while?" Dean responded annoyed with Sam's snippy attitude.

Leaning his head onto his right shoulder he drifted off , the hum of the motor a type of soothing hypnosis.

In all truthfulness Sam was right Dean did look like crap. His normally bronzed skin was drained of color, his complexion a sickly pallid at best. His eyes now heavy lidded eyes closed, had been red rimmed and his eyes where dark purple underneath. As if he hadn't slept in days, even though he'd just polished off two burgers he looked wasted, as if he was suffering from malnutrition as weak as he'd become over the last three days.

Dean was wearing a black shirt and rugged jeans and worn brown boots, his brown jacket underneath his arm. Sam looked back at the road; he'd still had not discussed what had gone on back in Saline, Nebraska. He'd actually started to wonder if Dean was really all there. Dean had become more distant and less dependant on Sam's company, which for his brother was odd. His brother had always had a dangerously co-dependant need for Sam's company, especially since their father had died. Sam knew how much family meant to his brother, how self-sacrificing he'd been his whole life to his family. Dean had sold his soul to get back a part of his family, Sam; he'd gone to hell for Sam. His brother was desperate to not be alone, so he knew his brother. And even though openly talking about his feelings with Sam was so often it could be described as never. He knew Dean wanted, had always wanted a family. That even though his brother had been hunting his whole life, and disillusioned himself into thinking that this was the life he'd always have chosen – he wouldn't have. He had the same dream that Sam had once clung to share with Jessica.

Sam's jaw clenched as he thought of her, even after all these years. He still wished if he'd gotten home just a little sooner or told Jessica to be a little more careful or even told her the truth about what was in the dark…maybe she'd still be alive.

The Black Sabbath was playing almost mutely in the car, as soon as Dean had drifted off into dreamland Sam had turned it down, unlike his brother he wasn't always in the mood for the same classic rock they'd been listening to since he'd left Stanford.

They'd reach Bobby's place soon, Sam had talked with Ellen last night, what she knew on the Colt – what Bobby had told her…

* * *

LAST NIGHT AT A DINER.

"What'd you mean?" Sam asked intently, unconsciously leaning across the table towards Ellen. Ellen's lips we're pursed and she nodded her head to the side and continued, "I mean exactly what I said, Sam. It's not gonna work. Bobby said so himself, the Colt's hot shit on anything Supernatural, except for four creatures and Lucifer just happens to one of the bitch's the colt can't touch."

_Sam flexed his jaw and leaned back, clenching and unclenching it in silent anger. He reached for his beer and took a long swig before placing it back down in front of him. _

"_So does Bobby know anything else? Another other way of stopping Lucifer?" Sam bit his bottom lip, his fingers playing with the label on the beer bottle in front of him as he intently stared at Ellen. _

_Ellen ran a finger through her brown hair, pulling it behind on ear. "No, I haven't heard from him since you did, so you're saying he never showed?" Ellen asked in, inquiring disbelief. "Yeah, He said he was going to meet me at the motel, never showed…" Sam didn't end his thought. "What about Dean, he see anything or heard anything?" Ellen asked. "No, he said Bobby never showed, he didn't even know yet that Bobby was coming by."_

"_Well what was he doing?"_

"_Uhh, Sleeping I guess, he didn't say and when I showed up later that night he was really out of it so I just dropped it." Sam took another sip of his beer._

_Ellen grabbed the small glass in front of her and downed the last of her whiskey, she gave same a calculated stare. _

"_How is Dean by the way?" She asked._

_Sam raised an eyebrow, "What'd you mean?" Sam frowned a little and squared his shoulders defensively._

"_Well he was gone a whole month, no one knew where he went, and you said he was in some abandoned town the whole time?"_

"_Yeah.." Sam answered slowly, trying to figure out where Ellen was going with this._

"_Well all I'm saying is, he had time loss right? Whole black spot from Lucifer rising to you finding him, all I'm say' in Sam, is Dean might not be Dean –"_

"_Hold it Ellen if you're saying what I think your say-"_

"_It's possible Sam, we don't know what happened to him. And he hasn't been too chatty about it? If I know one thing, when a Winchester keeps quiet he's hidin something Sam. Hell if I know what, but you really need to watch your brother."_

* * *

BACK IN THE IMPALA [PRESENT TIME]

Sam pulled into the dirt drive of Bobby's house, parking he leaned over the wheel of the car to look out of the windshield up at the house windows. There were no lights on, everything was dark and the car Bobby usually drove was nowhere to be seen. Sam leaned back and looked over at Dean, he was snoring lightly and now leaning completely against the window, mouth open slighty, the glass all foggy and slightly damp against his mouth, Sam almost didn't want to wake him up, he grabbed Dean's shoulder and shook him slightly, dean groaned and opened his eyes slightly.

"What?" his voice was husky and sleepy, almost unintelligible.

"Where at bobby's Dean."

"How long was I asleep?"

Sam laughed a little and got out of the car, responding "About six hours."

Dean shook his head and stretched, opening the car door as he did so – yawning widely.

Sam was already at the trunk of the car, suiting up for possible trouble inside. He was inspecting a shotgun and pulling out some bullets for it when Dean stepped next to him. Still yawning slightly and rubbing the back of his head, Sam glanced at him "What're you still tired?" Sam asked.

"Nah, just hungry." Dean grabbed his chrome handgun, checking the magazine, it was full – he popped it back in. Placing the gun at the small of his back and pulling his shirt down over it.

Sam slammed the trunk and they both started to walk up to the house. Dean glanced over to his right, he nudged Sam's arm.

"Hey, Look's like Bobby snagged a nice sports car."

Sam looked around Dean and saw a small red sports car parked halfway behind a pile of crap cars, he gave a "hmm" and continued to the front porch, ascending the steps, Dean went to knock on the door but it just pushed open.

Sam and Dean shared a look; Dean entered first into the vacant home, Sam following close behind.

Dean motioned for Sam to check the upstairs and Dean took the downstairs. Sam was upstairs silently, in seconds. Dean went into the kitchen, gun first, turning mechanically with his gun before him as he turned to go into the living area, a place Dean knew bobby kept all his books on the occult he heard a small creak in the floorboards. He froze for a moment, realizing the sound didn't come from upstairs but down here with him. He quickly entered the small living area, but no one was there, he lowered his gun slightly, frowning a little.

_Where?_ He thought, trying to pinpoint the source of the creak.

But at that moment he heard it again, behind him, before he could respond, he felt cold metal to the nape of his neck.

"Dammit." He said to himself.

He heard a small chuckle, and heard the hammer click. Dean's jaw clenched, the muscle in his check pulsated. The laugh was quiet but familiar, though he couldn't place it.

He could still here Sam moving upstairs, completely unaware of his situation downstairs.

Dean, angry with himself, began to slowly move his hands to the ground to put down his gun, the metal in his neck pressed harder so he froze.

"Hey, I'm putting my gun down you.." His eyebrows furrowed as he saw a reflection of the figure behind him in a metallic surface against Bobby's wall.

No way…It can't be…

"Oh look at you, searching for a witty rejoinder."

His blood pressure rose, out of not only slight anger, but embarrassment and surprise; he turned quickly knocking the gun out of her hand. Her lips hung open slightly at how fast he'd moved just now, but they quickly grew into a small smirk, crossing her arms she stared up into his hazel eyes.

"Screw you, Bela." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"Oh very, Oscar Wilde." She responded in her mockingly British way toward Dean.

Dean just stood still, unable to compute what was going on. Bela was alive…

She hadn't been killed by hellhounds. Alive. Right in front of him. Right now. Bending down grabbing her gun…bending down in tight black leather pants, Dean cocked his head at the view. But it ended as soon as it began; she stood back up turning to him.

"So how was hell? I'd canceled my reservation." Her wide green eyes smiled mockingly towards Dean. He straighten himself up, acting as if that view wasn't a turn on.

"How'd you do it?"

"Well I used my brain, something which you seem to lack. If you'd had one, you'd have figured out that with a little magic and some patience you could've skipped hell. But then again maybe not, killing lilth did make my life quite a lot easier. So for that thank you, though your complete lack competence did start the apocalypse – so then again…" Her voice trailed off and she walked past Dean towards Bobby's desk, flipping through some books that lay on top of it.

He turned around and watched her flip through Bobby's things. Bela looked healthy, her cocky and selfish attitude still intact, she was wearing black long heeled boots, tight black leather pants that screamed money, a low cut white shirt, the bosom area lolita frilled. Her long brown hair was a mess of wavy curls down her back, no doubt the effect of driving with the top down. She seemed completely unaware of his gaze, as she flipped through the pages of the book. She still stunk of treachery and dishonesty, as always but also a warm cinnamon. Dean walked towards her till he was behind her looking over her shoulder down at the books beneath her hands.

The cinnamon was overpowering, he reached around her, touching the top of her hand, his hand burned slightly, but he ignored it.

"Why are you here Bela?" He asked. His eyes rested for a moment on her chest, before looking back down at the books.

"Bobby should really learn how to lock his doors, anyone could just walk in." she responded, slipping out of his grasp and walking back towards the door.

"Anyone just did. What are you looking for, Bela?"

She stopped and turned back. About to respond, but then the stairs creaked and Sam stepped into the room, at first seeing Dean and then noticing Bela he looked like he jumped in his skin and grabbed his gun fast pointing it at her. "What the fuck!?"

Bela smirked and responded before Dean could. "Oooh. Sam's vocabulary has greatly de-evolved since I last saw him, I suppose I can attribute that to you, Dean." She asked her British voice harsh with mockery. Dean gave her a dirty look.

"It's really her Sam, she's not a revenant or demon. Though either of those things would be easier to deal with…"

"How do you know?" Sam asked defiantly, gun still aimed at Bela.

"She'd be, if possible, a bigger pain in the ass than she is now."

Dean also knew, because he could smell a demon and she wasn't one. But he decided not to tell Sammy he could do anything like that. This was one of those things he had recently started to notice along with the ultra fast reflexes, due to the demon blood. He frowned slightly, lost in his own thoughts; Sam slowly lowered the gun, still suspicious of Bela.

"How'd you know we were hear?" Sam demanded. Bela laughed heartily, tossing her head back after a few seconds she looked back at Sam uncrossing her arms and putting her hands on her hips. "Who ever said I was looking for you two, grade-A morons?"

Sam raised an eyebrow and frowned, shifting his weight on either foot, clearly un-convinced.

"How did you find out where we are?" Sam continued to demand an answer, Dean glanced over at his little brother, rubbing the back of his neck, and he yawned.

Bela sighed slightly. "Well let's just say I still know how to use a ouija board, talking to the deceased is, in fact, my specialty. I charge by the hour, by the way, and Dean you already have a tab with me. From your previous desecration of my last board." She continued, whilst examining her nails. "I chatted about with a few mates of yours, well previous ones at least, told me right where you two were at. And told me about all the naughty things you've been up to Dean."

Sam's face twitched in confused at where the conversation turned to, he glanced at Dean in question, Dean stared straight at Bela, eyes wide with not anger but focus – a penetratable stare as if he was trying to figure out if she did know anything. Her gaze didn't waver from his and she smiled wickedly back at him.

"So where is Bobby, Dean?" She stepped closer to him. Dean's body tensed, now he looked angry, Sam was still confused.

"I don't know what you're talking about, Bela. Sam and I came her to find Bobby."

Bela stopped, her mouth fell open and she smiled. "Oh my god." She sounded surprised. "Then you really don't know."

"Know what?" Sam and Dean responded at the same time. Glancing at each other uncertainly, then looking back at Bela. She was about to respond, when everyone heard the roar of an engine approach the house. Sam turned and walked to the closest window, "Ellen's here." He turned and looked back at either of them, Sam obviously didn't want to leave the room. But when Dean and Bela didn't move, Sam sighed leaving the room to meet Ellen and whoever she came with.

After Sam left, Dean sighed and sat down in a chair behind him, not looking at Bela. He hadn't seen Bobby, he thought he had, but that was just a dream…wasn't it? He couldn't remember what happened after Bobby had seen him with those eyes, so it must've been a dream. He felt a hand on his shoulder; he looked up to see Bela's bright green eyes.

"Dean." He narrowed his eyes at her.

"What?"

"Dean you're suffering from a delusional disorder, a type of delusional psychosis."

He felt his mouth open in disbelief.

"What are you.."

"It's been right? Since you woke up in Saline. Since you made your deal. Yes, Dean I know. People, or rather sprits talk in the netherworlds. Everyone's wondering how your going to get out of this one. I mean you basically, stuck your middle finger up at god and the angels by selling yourself directly to Lucifer, making yourself a vessel to him."

"I'm not a vessel to-"

"BUT, you will be." She said with finality in her British voice, she wasn't smiling now.

"Why are you telling me all this, why are you DOING THIS?" Dean asked standing up, she crossed her arms and looked up at his face.

"Because Dean." She grabbed both his arms tightly, he yelled as his flesh burned, smoke raising off it. She pulled her hands away, he looked at his skin, where she'd touched where two welting read hand marks. He looked at her, she turned over her wrists at the protection spells.

"Dean you have to stop. Your barely human."

Suddenly the burn marks started to fade, and within a few seconds it was as if It never happened.

"See you have a psychosis that stems from supernatural causes."

Dean sat down again, unable to think.

"I'm crazy?"

"No, but you can be. With one word, Dean. One word and you'll kill anyone your told to."

"What, like a trigger?"

"Well…yes. I'm assuming something happened to you, something you can't remember a word that your subconscious knows and obvious Lucifer knows to use one you, to control you."

"I've never even talked to Lucifer, Bela." She had to be making this all up, and he still didn't know why she was telling him all of this.

"Haven't you? Lucifer appears to all of us, and he does so differently to each person. He comes to us as what would be most appealing to a person."

Bela then turned and started to leave, Dean stood up quickly walking over to her. "Wait." She stopped but didn't turn to him. "Why are you telling me all this?"

"Obviously to try and help you, I've worked this hard not to die, Dean. I don't exactly fancy going to hell in two months. So stop. Stop all of it."

Dean watched her leave, heard her red convertible rev up and drive off. He stood there, thinking about Bobby and that it may not have been a dream after all, and if so what had happened to Bobby? Then he thought of Karen, her toned skin, tight ass, long legs, and sinful smile…Yeah she was making a lot more sense now, no real woman was that good.

"Yeah, no we haven't heard from Bobby. But I figure since it's almost night time, Dean and I where just going to crash here." Dean was pulled from his disturbing thoughts, just in time to see Sam walk in with Ellen, Jo, and one seriously pissed off looking Castiel.


	9. INTERLUDE

I've read all the reviews that I have received up to the most recent chapter. And I want to say thank you. Reviews are reassuring and help me to keep going

But as it is, I am currently at a writer's block, I of course will move past it, but I was hoping that maybe I could receive some input from my readers on where I should go next with the story. What I mean to say is

WHERE WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE THIS STORY GO?

What are you anticipating?

As a side note of course, I already know how this story ends. I have had my mind set on it since I began writing it.

So all I'm asking for is inspiration!

So respond to me in a message or review to this and let me know what you'd like to see happen in the story or what you may THINK is going to happen.

Thank you all, once more for all your reviews.

I read every one of them.

Please send me feedback.

Next chapter will be up VERY SOON.

-AbraCadaver


	10. Chapter 10

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I AM SO SORRY IT'S BEEN TOO LONG. Okay update, The last chapter opened with Bobby catching Dean with Karen and his eyes all black, I made a time lapse in the story and skipped ahead – Sam never hears from Bobby and so he and Dean go to Bobby's House to see what's up. They run into Bela, she has an INTENSE conversation with Dean, so if you forgot what was said go back and read the last chapter it has pertinent information to where this plot will be heading. Then Jo, Ellen, and Castiel show up at the end. Now for the continuation…

"_Kerosene." _

_Within moments what Dean had then done, he wanted to forget, but that would be a impossible task, given the severity of the situation._

_He didn't want to remember Bobby's terrified look as he came at him, eyes black as coal, when he pulled out the gun and shot him point-blank in the head, with a sociopath like coolness. Or the sound of the plastic tarp he laid across the ground as he dismembered his life-long friend, carried him out back and burned the remains in an empty dumpster._

_Most of all Dean wanted to forget the void of emotion he'd felt, the lack of response – he'd killed Bobby Singer, as if he was just taking out the trash. How somber he'd been throughout the entire act, he couldn't stop himself – it was like watching a movie and screaming at the person "Don't go in! Don't go in" but of course they never hear you. The only deference was that this wasn't a movie, he should've been able to stop._

_That is when he knew, something was very, very wrong…_

Dean laid on the small bed in the Singer house, the gray tones of the small bedroom paralleling his mood. He was to be blunt – depressed. He thought of his confrontation with Bobby, his hands over his stomach – trying to suppress the gag reflex. He could hear the sound of the bones cracking and the slow ripping of muscles and tendons.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

"No." he muttered, rolling over to his side and grimacing.

After what seemed like hours his hazel eyes slowly opened, his eyebrows contracted together to form a look of hopelessness. Bela was right he was fucked up, over the past few hours he'd ignored his desire to kill himself.

After Bela had left and Sam and the rest of the scoobies had discussed…well whatever the hell they'd been talking about, he'd been within his own head trying to remember…and having successfully done so now, he laid in the small bed wishing he hadn't.

Even through his whole self-thrown pity party dean could fell the effects of the demon blood warring away, his body was beginning to ache – desperate for another hit. His throat was dry and he needed water but t do that it would require him to move and his body was aching all over. He looked at his arms in front of him, willing them to move – but nothing happened – of course he didn't want to move, but he tried.

Pain shot through him red hot and he let out a small moan as he tightened his lips, biting the lower one till it began to bleed. He finally let out a breath slowly, his vision was double…

Dean was a crumpled mess, he lay vulnerable on the small bed, curled up. Karen tipped her head to the side as she stepped from the doorway towards him, smiling slightly at her handy work. His eyes where open, staring blankly at the wall across from him, there heavy black underneath them and his skin had no color – his brow was sweaty and he was shivering, or muscle spasms. Either way it was obvious Dean was in need of the 'juice'.

As she began to step closer to him her smile grew, seeing Dean Winchester, infamously known demon hunter, balled up in pain – weak, defenseless, vulnerable, and completely ready to say yes to Lucifer if it mean another hit. It hit Karen, she had done her job well, unlike Ruby who'd screwed around with false friendship and love – Karen was abrupt and had no façade of her true nature. Her black boots clicked on the wooden floor, she was inches from his bed when he realized she couldn't move, for a moment her face registered pure shock, then she glared at Dean.

"You."

She said with pure distaste.

Slowly his body unfolded, he sat up and turned to her – smiling.

Her hands in tight balls against her sides, eyes black and she began to mutter, what was undoubtedly a counter curse of some sort.

Dean just laughed. His shaking had stopped and he whipped the sweat of his forehead, then pointed up – slowly she looked up.

"Devil's Trap. Sorry Bitch look like your passport's expired."

She studied him, he was composed and he looked unfazed by her presence.

"You are immune to me. Why?"

Dean let out a chuckled and flashed a smart-ass smirk. "Because I woke up this morning and realized I was tired of being your bitch-boy, you high and mighty Skank. Plus, having Bela lecture me on morals was the cherry on the top of my ice-cream." He walked around her, obviously enjoying her completely hopeless situation.

"So I decided to do a little research, found a anti-venom, you could call it, to your blood. And I did a little research on you, Karen. You're a crossroad's demon. Now why are you working directly for the president downstairs?" His eyes darkened, the hazel becoming a solid dark, dark green. He stopped, standing back where he'd originally been.

"If I kill you, Bobby will come back."

Now it was Karen's turn to laugh. "What ever gave you THAT idea?" He ran a perfectly manicured hand through her blonde locks.

"Because your on a contract."

Her smile faded.

"Before you ask, Bela told me. She can ouija about anything out of the spirit world."

But Dean was tired of talking, and the longer she was alive – the longer she'd have to think of a way to weasel herself out of her current predicament, and the way she'd been moving her body since she walked in- made it obvious to Dean that he'd still like to hit that. So then he yelled - "SAM!"

She turned quickly to the door behind her, it slammed open and Sam Winchester stood in the doorway. Dean had told Sam, she couldn't believe it, now all of what he'd told Sam, Karen didn't know. But he'd planned this and then she accepted what would happen, it was inevitable now.

Dean nodded at Sam, and then Sam began to recite not an exorcism but a cleansing, about the equivalent of his black eyed demon killing he'd been doing last year, except done with traditional, mortal magic.

Dean's jaw clenched as Karen decided to ignore Sam's presence, she turned to Dean and smiled. She stood defiantly with her hand's on her hips, the black leather form fitting outfit, letting his eyes rake over her one last time, she noticed this and her smirk just widened, he was just giving her final confirmation of her accomplishment.

"Bye Bitch."

She laughed; he knew that she knew that it was over. But she seemed un-effected.

"Oh go fuck yourself, Winchester."

Then her body jerked, and black smoke drippled out of her mouth, soon followed by larger quantities of it and then, finally her body crumbled onto the ground, surrounded by a circular burn mark.

Karen was gone.

Sam closed the book he was holding and Dean sat back onto the bed, after a few moments he realized Sam was still standing there – he looked up at him. But there was no smile, it was a somber and pitying look – then Sam turned, saying "you have an hour to disappear." And then closed the door behind him. Leaving Dean to wallow in his own misery, as he grabbed his small duffel, throwing his gun in it then putting on a gray flannel over the white V-neck.

When he left the house no one said goodbye to him.

He had told Sam everything, the Impala was gone along with the Harvelle truck – they must've gone to get Bobby back from that motel. He'd be alive now.

There was a 1974 black Nova parked out front for him, keys in the ignition. Dean threw the duffel through the glassless passenger window, and walked around the car to the driver's side. He stopped when he saw his reflection in the glass, his hair was longer and he was thinner, making him younger looking but also unhealthy. He saw his bitten lower lip, partially swollen – then he saw the note –pulled away from his own self-loathing.

His eyebrows rose in question, he opened the door and grabbed it out of the driver's seat, sitting down and slamming the door he opened the paper with his name on it.

_It's Sam's writing..._ Dean thought as he opened it, the note was small and what it said was not surprising, hell if Dean were in Sam's position he'd say the same thing. Hell, he'd BEEN in Sam position just last year – crazy how things can turn on a person in such a small amount of time. But still, the words burned, and that small flicker of hope Dean clinged to, for Sam's forgiveness for all he'd done, was now extinguished as he took in Sam's harsh words: _"If I ever see you again, I will kill you. You are no better than the things we've hunted. Dean, you're a monster. And monsters need to be killed, but your also my brother so I'm giving you this warning. But if I ever see your face again I will kill you, unquestioningly."_


	11. Chapter 11

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So I seemed to have gotten a strong response from Sam's parting letter to Dean from chapter 10, and wow I really wasn't expecting that sort of reaction. Thank you, it lets me know people are actually reading what I'm writing so, self-esteem boost. And sorry if this chapter is a little slow but I'm really trying to get the story where I want it to be, where I've wanted it to be since I first started writing this in 11/2009. So hopefully I can get there and finally finish this story, not that I'm in a rush – I just hope you all like how it will end. But that won't be for at least another maybe 8-9 chapters.

Also – Dean's hair length is about as long as it was in season one episode.

Enjoy!

* * *

Sam sat outside the hospital in the Impala and it was just past midnight. Ellen and Jo had rushed the comatose Bobby into the ER.

Frowning slightly he turned up the radio, trying to distract himself. The radio blared, but Sam still didn't hear it – his thoughts too heavy to dilute. Sam was dead set on his decision with Dean, it was brutal, and Sam could only imagine the detachment and loneliness Dean was probably dealing with right now, wherever he was…

Sam chewed on his thumbnail, staring across the street into the bright red emergency room sign, hoping Bobby would be all right, but as much as he cared for Bobby he only thought of him briefly, then his thoughts slid back to his brother…

There had been multiple times Dean had left Sam, for instance an argument they'd had right after Jessica had died and Sam had just been left on the side of the road or the time he'd called Sam a monster…like Sam had just called Dean. But there was nothing Sam could do to help him; he'd just starting getting over the blood himself and how he was doing it he still didn't know – it was a day to day battle, coping with the evil he'd done and the urges he to suppress, it was beyond tough.

Then Sam starting to think that maybe he didn't want to help Dean, maybe he was being immature and vindictive.

_I mean how many times has Dean been a jerk just to get me back?_ Sam thought in his own defense as he roughly slammed his elbow onto the door armrest, and ran his other hand through his mess of brown hair anxiously.

Overall, Sam felt awful and the awkward empty feeling in his chest only made it worse, when he'd wrote the note he was so full of anger and rage that'd he'd been holding in for what seemed like forever, Dean's deceit had just been the tip of the iceberg and he'd lost it. But sitting in the Impala now, Sam realized it had all just been anger – part of it misdirected – and that he didn't want Dean to go. He wanted to help Dean, god did he ever, after all the times his brother had put himself in harm's way to save him – going to hell for Sam being on the top of the list, Sam knew what he had to do – instantly starting to fell better at the thought. He pulled out his cell phone and turned it on, waiting for it to get it's service bars – he was going to call Dean and set things right, he was going to be there for his brother.

* * *

The old Nova was parked behind him, Dean stood in front of a barrel filled with various items such as papers monster research, receipts, old ripped clothing, and photos. He swiped the match against the side of the box and threw it into the gasoline soaked barrel.

The fire flared up and out of the metal container, Dean just stared silently into it – mesmerized and in deep thought. He was in a Nevada Desert, right outside of Vegas – he was on his way to California, where he'd figured he'd stay for a while, lay low so to speak. As the fire continued to burn, and the sun began to set Dean stuffed his hands into the old pair his old pair of jeans and just watched the flames flick and bite the air. Closing his eyes, he clenched and un-clenched his jaw, mentally preparing himself to say goodbye to the last connection to his old life.

He pulled his small black cell phone from his pocket, rubbing his thumb over it slowly – inside it were all the numbers of every girl he'd ever been with, every hunter he'd ever met, and every person he considered to be family – this was his connection to them, that in the next few seconds he would sever indefinitely. It wasn't really often that Dean cried or confided it his feelings to another, it happened rare. But right now he wanted to cry, to break down and lay on the ground and cry. Anyone that ever mattered to him was gone, his mom, dad, Jo, Bobby, and now Sam – his only blood relation hated him. Dean's eyebrows contracted, and he flexed his jaw attempting to barrier tears from his eyes – but a slight film of water already covered them…

Dean tossed the phone into the barrel, hearing the popping noise of the fire on the plastic; he stared at his old life – watching it burn away. Then he turned, got back into his car and drove away, and started to suppress any memory of Sam and anyone he'd ever loved, because it was over.

* * *

"Fuck!" Sam yelled, angrily throwing his phone onto the floor of the Chevy Impala. Clenching and unclenching his teeth, his hand pressed firmly against his forehead as he stared out of the window seeing nothing, blinded by his anger.

He couldn't reach Dean, the number was disconnected or some bullshit along those lines, Sam was seeing red – furious at himself.

He stared at the emergency room doors again, then he made his choice, he revved up the car and backed out of his parking space, and put pedal to asphalt and drove away.

* * *

ONE WEEK LATER…Santa Cruz, California

Dean stepped through the doors of a finely manicured household, glancing up at the large golden chandelier overhead – the ceiling seemed to stretch to the heavens.

"Mr. Smith will be here to see you shortly, Sir." A small older woman in a maid's uniform told Dean as she bowed slightly – backed away and walked down a corridor.

The only thing that dean could clearly saw through his awe at the clearly millionaire like home was: _The HOUSE has fucking corridors…_

Suddenly self-contious, dean looked down at his outfit, adjusting his black tie and straightening the black blazer and checking to make sure his zipper was up, he glanced back down the hallway, then up at the spiraling upward stairs but no one had appeared yet.

Dean licked his lips and ran a hand through his light brown hair he'd attempted to comb over but it would not comply, rebelling against the gel and comb it stood up in a defiant mess atop his head.

Just as Dean's thoughts began to roam, considering a haircut he was brought from his thoughts by a sudden hand being thrust towards him. Jumping slightly he looked up, then quickly shook the older gentleman's hand.

"Hello Sir." Was all Dean knew to say, the older man shook his head in compliance.

"Thank you, Mr. Winchester." He then turned and started walking down a hall, Dean followed, assuming that's what the man wanted him to do. The man began to talk as they got deeper and deeper into the Estate mansion.

"I hear you specialize in these sort of phenomenon."

"Yes Sir."

"We've been having trouble with doors random locking, objects disappearing and appearing on the opposite side of the estate. At first small things, we'd thought we had a thief in out employment – but then it became larger things, things that would be impossible to move by one's self and to go unnoticed."

Dean nodded to the man as he looked back to see Dean was paying attention.

"Then employees would go missing and be found a week or so later unconscious, and with no memory of the past week. And then of course my daughter's sudden illness."

The man finally stopped after a labyrinth of walking, his hand rested on the handle of a door.

"I trust Mr. Winchester that you, know of what kind of 'phenomenon I speak of?" the look he was giving Dean was skeptical, as if he couldn't believe a man had drove across a state to actually investigate and solve – what he assumed was a haunting.

"Call me Dean, I know what you're talking about and I know exactly how to deal with this sort of thing." Dean cracked a cocky smile and popped his eyebrows, astonished with himself that he'd suppressed to call the man Jeeves.

Hartsel opened the door to the room they stood in front of, it was a large library filled to the ceiling with books, books, and oh crap could it be? More books!

Hartsel then proceeded to tell Dean he was allowed free rein of the estate and that he had a room prepared for him to stay in whilst he worked on the case.

An hour or so after the Man of the House had left Dean in the library; Dean's vision was gone as he dropped a book on the family history back onto the study table.

And leaned backwards in the wooden chair, and then stretching – his army green jacket lay on a cushion chair behind him, which looked so inviting right now…

Getting up Dean walked across the room and collapsed into the big red pillow of a chair, smirking contentedly as he did so. He looked back around at the shelves of books.

"Damn, Sammy would be in heaven if he was here." He said aloud without thinking, then realizing he'd done so his mood shifted, and his heart squeezed and his stomach was filled with rocks.

_Sam.._

Dean closed his eyes, pissed at reminding himself about his brother, when he'd finally just stopped thinking about him a few hours ago. The emptiness he had been feeling since Sam had told him to get lost made him breath deeper for air, because when he thought of his Brother and not being able to ever see him again. To never have that close relationship with him again, it made the air thin and he felt like he couldn't breathe.

He ran long thin fingers through his hair and over his face, resting his elbows on his knees…then he saw the bottle of scotch on the small table across from him with two small glasses set next to it. Without hesitation Dean stood up, walked across the room and grabbed the bottle, un-screwing the top he started to reach for a glass and then stopped realizing it was pointless to even pretend he wasn't going to just consume the whole thing.

_The first step to moving on, getting drunk as hell on the job and just not giving a shit._

Dean cringed slightly at the strength of the first gulp of alcohol as it slid down his throat.

_First responsible thought of the week. _Dean thought as he lifted the bottle up and tilted his head back downing the rest of the contents in the bottle, the sad thing was – that this truly was his best decision he'd made all week, dealing with his brother's rejection.

* * *

Montgomery, Alabama

"Thank you Sir, yes my badge number is N06789411…Yes I am normally in the domestic terrorism department…Well that's what I've been trying to tell your superiors for the past hour…yes, yes I know this is a busy week for the Bureau…I'm on assignment, yes…" Sam was starting to get irritated at the overtly thorough agent on the other side of the line, Sam's next series of responses where more clipped.

"Yes, I'm looking for a black 1970s Nova with the license plate number N4K771…Yes, I'll wait."

Sam sat on the edge of his motel bed, having realized the lead he thought he'd had on Dean was false, a wrong lead and now he was 376 miles plus and no closer to finding his brother. The phone clicked and the man returned, basically saying the car had been spotted just west of Las Vegas, after it had pulled a 'dine and dash' at a gas station after filling a full tank but not paying. Sam quickly thanked the agent and hung up, grabbing his small book bag of clothes and his car keys he checkout out of the 'Rosa Parks' motel and hit the interstate making a beeline to Nevada, hoping he'd be able to find Dean before he moved on too far again.


	12. Chapter 12

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **So what is the probability of the majority of my readers hating me when they find out how this story ends? A lot.

* * *

2 months later… Portland, Oregon

"I take it all back, I love the devil."

The visual stimulation was overwhelming; Dean shook his head, smirking as he rubbed his palms on the top of his jeans, stretching back in the red rap around booth in the private room of some nameless strip club, his arms rested on either side of the back of the booth and his legs spread wide in lazy and easy access slouch. Licking his bottom lip his eyes watched her, unwavering, as she sensuously twisted her hips on a lighted platform in front of him. She leaned towards dean letting her hands rest on his shoulders and then teasingly letting them fall lower, her lips inches from his own. Dean breathed in deep as her hands came back up to his face, fingertips tracing his jaw line and then slowly outlining his lips. He swallowed and looked up at the woman in the devil costume, his eyes heavy with an un-satisfied lust.

She then pulled away; he clenched his jaw and gave her a look turning his head slightly to the side, acknowledging her tease. Then watched as she ran her hands over her barely concealed body, it was all Dean could do to stay seated. He wanted that body to do that number against his, adjusting himself slightly he sat up – realizing he'd been sinking lower and lower into the chair as she had approached him.

Then as if it couldn't get any better a blonde appeared from behind the curtains on the other side of the room, strutting onto the platform in a skimpy angel's costume in high white heels.

"Now that's what I call peace on earth." He said as he leaned forward, hungrily watching their bodies grind together to 'Cherry Pie'. The thought of them both being virgins, though the way they could move their hips he knew they weren't, the thought still remained a massive turn on. He bit his bottom lip again and swallowed, his mouth hanging slightly open as they both came over to his touching him everywhere. The blonde leaned forward and perked her lips letting her hands rest on either side of his crotch as she let her lips barely touch his, she looked at him in the face. His pupils dilated, his pants suddenly feeling too binding, and then he leaned forward to kiss her back, she just smirked and pulled away from him – she and the devil continued doing this for a few more hours, taunting and teasing Dean.

And damn, was he enjoying it.

* * *

Dean hadn't heard from Sam in months, he'd actually stopped thinking of his brother a while ago. But every now and then his mind would wonder and he'd find himself soon after in a drunken stupor. Battling balance he'd stumble around his motel room and miss the bed, waking up in an uncomfortable position on the ground. Always groaning from a back pain, but more importantly the 'mind-dribbling-out-of-your-ears' sort of pain in the head area. He'd worked cases non-stop, keeping his mind only on the present – not on the future, but certainly never on the past.

Sam had been searching cross-country for Dean and he was as always one step behind his brother, who obviously wanted to 'stay under the radar'. Sam knew his brother wasn't scared of him, but that he was simply abiding by his brother's wish – even if it was killing him. Though Sam was sure Dean didn't show it, he was good at swallowing his emotions. Sam parked the Impala in front of the 'French Lick Resort', which was just a fancy name for another run down trucker motel with a plethora of hookers. Getting a room for the night in downtown Portland, Sam had just arrived in the city on a tip that his brother may be here working on a job.

* * *

Dean walked out of the bar, a grin on his face a mile long, and had no chance of fading anytime soon. Hands in his pockets, empty where wads of cash had been at the beginning of the successful night. Thought most had been spent on drinks, the girls hadn't needed much persuasion to commit to something other than the voyeuristic pleasure.

Dean leaned sloppily against the old Nova, blinking a few times and laughing to himself, relieving the sinful night with the 'angel' and the 'demon'. His hands fumbled with the car keys and when he finally opened the door he attempted to seatbelt himself in but couldn't ever get the belt in the buckle. Speaking of belts and buckles, he checked his, smirking, another reminder of the night, he zipped up his pants.

Too spent, his energy and focus gone from the night Dean decided to camp out in the car instead of heading back to the motel for what was left of the night.

The alcohol like warm milk to a baby, Dean passed out snoring slightly in ignorant accomplishment. Dean snoozed way hours only to awaken at the tap on his window and a bright, which he could only surmise as the sun. His eyes adjusting to the bright light he then sat up – eyes still blurring he opened the car door and looked up.

* * *

Her mouth hung open slightly in a smirk, then she closed her lips and leaned over pushing Dean to the other side of the car, sitting down where he'd been. "What the hell, Bela?" She didn't respond right away taking in his appearance.

Dean's usual jacket and flannel where on the floor of the car along with crushed beer cans and candy rappers. Dean leaned awkwardly against the passenger door staring at her, most likely trying to figure out if he was actually awake.

"Buckle up." She stated as she turned on the car and switched gears, dean's face lined with confusion, but obviously to hung over to really say anything back he just buckled the belt across his chest. Bela would glance at him every time they where at a read light, his shirt was partially ripped at the collar, as if it had been frantically ripped off at some point. The top of his jeans where still un buttoned, her eyes shifted to his face – his mouth hung open as if in a daze and his hair was a mess of light brown, jutting in various directions. His car smelled, among other things, like him – Dean had a very natural smell mixed with an Old Spice deodorant or shampoo. He had a slight shadow and his hazel eyes looked tired. His physic back to about how it'd been before all the demon Karen shit, Bela pulled into the 'French Lick Resort' grabbing Dean's key from the floorboard she parked and exited the car walking to his room.

* * *

"What time is it?" Sam asked no one. He propped himself up on his elbows and glanced at his clock, it was past twelve and he could already see the sun shining in through his room. He must've been more tired than he thought.

* * *

Dean had followed Bela into the room and now sat on the edge of the bed, she eventually sat down next to him.

"Dean-" She started to say but he cut her off as his hands cupped either sides of her face and he kissed her. Bela shoved his shoulders and he easily flopped onto his back on the bed, he just smiled at her. She glared, but the pressed on – unperturbed by his childish antics.

"Dean, your in danger."

Through his hung over stupor he pulled himself up partly, supported by her elbows.

"What's going on Bela?" his voice firm, then he stood up and walked to the bathroom she heard a faucet run and he walked out with a towel in his hands drying his face and she continued seeing she had his attention.

"Lucifer is going to vessel Sam." Dean's eyes widened fast then went back to their normal size, throwing the small hand towel on a table next to him, "How do you know what you've heard isn't a trick?"

"Because in two nights from now Sam will be in Detroit and under extenuating circumstances we will give in to Lucifer."

"Sam's not going to say 'I Do' Bela. That's bullshit, whoever is your informer, has shit for brains."

She leveled Dean with a cold stare.

"You can believe in whatever you want, don't trust, fine. But when Sam says yes and the world ends, well I guess we'll know who was right, now won't we?" She added an 'hmm?' afterwards and then started to head her finely sculpted ass towards the door.

"Why should I trust you?"

"Why shouldn't you?"

She responded her clipped British voice responded as she slammed the door and left Dean alone once again to his thoughts.

Unconsciously, Dean's eyes shifted back and forth as he thought about what Bela had told him, his jaw muscles clenching and unclenching as he weighed his options. If he saw Sam again, he'd try to kill him – but if he didn't try and go save Sam then Sam would die [essentially] and then Dean would still die but along with half of he world's population as well. Running a nervous hand through his messy brown hair he made his decision, he was going to get to Detroit before Sam and stop Lucifer.

* * *

After another un successful day, Sam returned to the motel to rest a while – the case Dean had been on was closed and once more another day came to a close and he was starting from scratch all over again, he had no lead on where Dean had gone.

An hour or two later, the sun had set and Sam decided he'd leave tomorrow morning after poking around a bit more for Dean, maybe he hadn't left just yet. There where about a handful of strip clubs and bars Dean would be a regular at, maybe he was celebrating at one of them. Before going bar hopping Sam decided to grab some dinner.

Entering the small resort's diner, Sam grabbed the nearest booth and promptly ordered the Caesar salad and water. Drumming his fingers on the table, he waited for his dinner, occasionally glancing at the TV over the bar. As his vision scanned the room he stopped on the petit form of a brunette sitting on a bar stool opposite him in the bar. Sam's eyebrows creased and he frowned slightly, tilting his head to the right he tried to figure out why she looked so familiar. She flipped her hair over her shoulder as she reached for her purse to pay her bill. Sam's nostrils flared and he stood up and walked up to her in seconds, grabbing her wrist.

"Bela."

He stated simply, but his voice accusing – wondering what she was doing in this city.

She turned to him and gave him a wicked grin, her curly brown hair framing her tanned face.

"Why, Hello Sam."

She wasn't just going to spill information so he sat next to her, hand still holding onto her wrist – so she couldn't grab a gun. God knows he didn't need another shot to the shoulder right now.

"Bela what are you doing here?"

"I'm on business."

"Who're you scamming now?"

"No one. I am just on Business Sam, doesn't mean I'm hurting anyone."

"What is it that you're planning to steal?"

She opened her mouth to respond but Sam cut her off.

"Or have you already stolen it?"

She then closed her mouth and just smiled at him, this caused him to raise an eyebrow, glancing at her up and down trying to figure her angle. Then it hit him like a steel freight train, the last time he'd seen Bela she had been with Dean, talking to Dean about stuff that at the time had been cryptic to him, she knew things about Dean he hadn't.

"Bela," Sam asked desperately, huffing slightly between each weird as he always did when he got rushed, anxious at the thought she may know where Dean is.

"Bela," he repeated. "Do you know where my brother is?"

"Depends…"

"On what?" his voice got higher at the question, he pulled back from her, one side of his nose twitched as he frowned – eyebrows furrowed at her in questioning annoyance.

"What do you have to offer me?"

"Bela! Please this is serious I've been looking for Dean for months."

"And you haven't found him?"

"No."

"My goodness you really are an awful hunter, have you considered another professions, Lawyer, maybe?" she punned at Sam hinting at his once dream life he was to share with Jessica. Sam controlled himself from grabbing her on either side of her shirt and shaking her, but figured that'd be too obvious in public. So tried to calm his voice and responded in a deep clipped tone.

"..."

She was silent a moment, Sam began to think she didn't know or that she really wasn't going to tell him just in spite of Sam's frantic need.

"Detroit."

Sam double glanced.

"Detroit?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Dean's gone to kill Lucifer."

Sam just stared at Bela.

"And you better hurry, because he left about ten hours ago, Sam. He's probably already there."

Sam got up, walked past his booth and table full of fresh steaming food, he grabbed his jacket from the seat and ran outside to the Impala.

He was going to Detroit.

* * *

Bela smiled as she watched Sam speed away.

She pulled out her cell phone and dialed a number, waiting momentarily for the other line to pick up and then she smiled.

"Yes, they're on their way…I expect my payment will be waiting for me at the appointed place?"


	13. Chapter 13

**NOW**

Sam gritted his teeth, groaning audibly across the now dimly lit warehouse, attempting to pull himself up from his stomach. Pressing his weight onto his elbows, he tried to pull himself to his knees –a shout of pain slipped from between his lips as he collapsed again onto the cold ground. He furrowed his eyebrows and tried not to think about the pain in his back and the pool of his blood slowly forming next to him, he could only see a metal wall, and had been unconscious since he was attacked earlier. Sam lay paralyzed on the cement, his injuries too great for him to even consider moving. But he couldn't stand the anxiety bubbling and churning his stomach, what had happened to Dean? Where was he? Why wasn't he here helping me? Why can't I hear him, and why didn't Lucifer vessel me when I said yes?

All these questions burned at the edge of Sam's mind, he then decided to risk the pain, he craned his neck back so he could see what was in front of him in the warehouse, his eyes clenched shut at the friction of concrete on his already bruised cheek. When he opened his eyes, his breath caught in his throat and without thinking pushed himself up so fast he was on his feet, whilst yelling his brother's name.

"Dean!"

Sam fell into a crumpled mess only a few feet away from where he had been laying, barely closer to his brother's motionless form, the adrenaline rush he'd felt only seconds before out of surprised fear, had given out due to his extensive injuries – his body was unable to function to get Sam closer to his brother motionless form.

"Dean!" Sam yelled again from his strangled position on the floor, his arms bent uncomfortably beneath him, Dean still wasn't moving and Sam was bleeding profusely.

Time was running out…

10 Hours ago…

Dean rested against the old mahogany backboard of the nameless trucker motel he was currently inhabitation in downtown Chicago. It was 3 am on a Thursday morning, but Dean was wide-awake – now whether that was due to his internal clock or the bottle of beer he was nursing between his hands, was another story. Dean tipped his head back and down the rest of the bottle's contents, only realizing afterwards that he was desperate for more. Tossing the bottle over the side of the bed and reaching to his left, he pulled another beer from his "inconspicuous" brown paper bag.

Dean's darkly colored flannel was wrinkled and un-evenly buttoned, the white shirt beneath looked as worn and dirty as the dirt grimed jeans and muddy boots he rested on the bed.

He glanced at the bedside clock, the digital numbers glaring red in the dimly lit room, Dean had yet to find Lucifer or Sam – he didn't care about the dysfunctional relationship he had with Sammy now, even if his brother never wanted to see him again after this, he was not going to allow Lucifer to commandeer Sam's meat suit. Dean was drinking more out of anxiety right now, rather than depression or fear – which would be soon to come if he couldn't stop Sam from saying the big, "I Do".

But the thing was Dean didn't have any research to do, he didn't have any demons to hunt down in search for Lucifer, any hunter could tell if they walked into Chicago right now that something was pretty fucked up. There was a constant gloom in the air and sky that was the color of ash, and thunder flashed in the sky every minute or so, its roar vibrating the land. Most had evacuated due to the fear of an earthquake, which would normally be a ridiculous notion…but then again over the past few months ridiculous had been the norm. There had been so many signs going off since he and Sam had split, Bobby had called multiple times – attempting to mediate the rift that had formed between Sam and Dean, but had, obviously been un-successful.

((2 MONTHS AGO…

"_Well, Boo-hoo, __**princess! **__But in case you haven't noticed, the whole frickin world is going to hell, and do you mean to tell ME that you and Sam can't stop havin this little bitch fight for two goddamn seconds and try to save this planet from going completely ta shit?" – Bobby))_

Words had then been exchanged that hadn't been very nice and well, that was the last time Dean had spoken to Bobby.

Lucifer was here, and it was plain as rain where he was due to the copious amounts of Demons that were forming in the warehouse district. Dean was just waiting, when Lucifer decided to show his demon-y ass he'd know… which also meant Sam hadn't found him yet…

IN A HOTEL NOT FAR FROM DEAN'S…

"Sam" his tone was that dull seriousness, gravelly but also authoritative. "This is one door that should stay closed. This is the path that should not be taken." He paused, his eyes intensely burning into Sam's, who had just turned back around to face Castiel, his attention now drawn. "Do. Not. Pursue. Your. Brother." Sam's mouth hung open in disbelief at the statement, then shaking his head and smiling – not out of amusement but of disagreement towards Castiel's request – huffing as he did so. Sam then narrowed his eyes and crossed his arms, waiting for Castiel's reasoning behind his request.

"It has been foretold," Sam rolled his eyes at such a weak opening statement – he wasn't about to forfeit Dean's life due to some damn prophecy – destiny is only real when you give into it, Dean had proved this more than once. "There is nothing you can do to stop this. You cannot save your Brother, Sam." Sam smirked at Castiel's attempt at some desperate emotional connection by using his name to try and convince Sam to stop. Castiel wasn't what anyone would consider a comedian. But Sam was finding it extremely hard not to laugh.

Dean needed him, he wouldn't let his big brother down, he couldn't save Dean last year and he was damned if he'd let Dean die again, or at least alone. He wouldn't let Dean give himself up as a vessel for some angel. Though the thought had crossed his mind a few times, why would Michael want dean as a vessel now? He'd been a demon to some extent previously, would Michael still take this tainted vessel of his brother, even if Dean consented?

ABOUT 8 HOURS LATER..

Dean pulled the knife from the Demon's gut, the empty meat suit crumpled onto the pavement, it's liquidity contents draining from the hole Dean had given it only seconds before. The grimace on his face would wilt plants and his moss green eyes trained only at one goal, the metal doors that lay ahead of him – Lucifer ahead of him, and presumably his little brother…

"I'm coming Sammy."

He jammed his blade into another demon pawn, clearing his own path amongst the horde of demons crowded around Warehouse 13.

Sam parked the Impala at the end of the street, giving one last look at the ebony beauty, glistening in the moonlight. Though it had been months since the car had been cleaned or waxed – in absence of it's caretaker, Sam's elder brother – the Impala still shone bright, proud, and strong. Sam glanced at her, a moment he took not to acknowledge the car's beauty but it's significance…

If Dean where here right now he would have done the same, because it wasn't what was inside the car or even the type of impressive muscle car that it was – it was the home that Sam and his brother had to go back to, the only thing they could call home…

Sam pulled away, his eyes no longer resting on the small toy solider crammed into the back seat's door compartment. His back now on the car that he may never see again, he knew this – that he may not make it out of here alive…

Warehouse 13 loomed above all the others in the distance, the stench of sulfur and the yells of demons filled the air. There were now three things Sam was certain of: one, Dean was here and this was based on a feeling but he knew in his gut he'd find his brother ahead. Two, not only was Dean here – but also Lucifer, someone Sam had been attempting to avoid these past few months. And three, Michael was not here…Sam then began to wonder if he'd misplaced trust in his informant, Bela – which was possible, because Sam was desperate to see his brother again. It had been so stupid of him to push Dean away, of all people – Sam should've accepted and understood Dean's problem – but Sam had been disappointed and had acted irrationally. But not now – tonight he'd save his brother…Tonight him and Dean where going to go out for a beer and then drive down the highway – heading where? Who cares, they'd be together in the Impala and all would be right again in the world.

**NOW**

The warehouse was vast and empty in the most simplistic description; it was gray metal and concrete – cold and drafty, a void of comfort. Dean unconsciously tightened his leather jacket around him, seeing his breath appear before him in long puffs of white smoke. Laughing quietly to himself, of the absurdity of this mission and attempt to face Lucifer, fight him or whatever the hell he was going to do to save Sam from being worn to the prom. He attempted to clear the tenacity of the air, "Lucyyyy, I'm home." No response.

Due to lack of patience and a jumpy nerve Dean decided to yell, "Come out you son of a bitch!" he dragged out the pronunciation of 'bitch' attempting to put emphasis on his devil may care, laugh in the face of danger attitude. Still nothing, he was starting to wonder if the demons outside where just reject dumbass demons with a shitty internal compass of where their king of the underworld was, while contemplating the lack of intelligence demons had in general, Dean had failed to notice Nick-Lucifer walking from the shadows of the Warehouse walls, opposite Dean. Dean shivered again and rubbed his hands against his chest attempting to create body heat.

"Sorry if it's a bit chilly," Dean's head whipped up from the floor, clenching his jaw, narrowing his eyes and standing in a particular defensive position with his pearl plated pistol drawn he watched Lucifer stroll towards him. "Most people think I burn hot, it's actually quite the opposite." His face now fully exposed in the light Dean could see the flesh peeling away from his face and disintegrating, his current vessel was only meant to be temporary.

"Well, I'll alert the media." Dean's eyebrows moved mockingly at Lucifer, his response out of complete sarcasm caused be his slight annoyance at Lucifer's general disinterest in why Dean was here and his ADHD personality, always going on about the most trivial and unimportant things. Lucifer stopped, lips pursed and eyes hollow, obviously mulling over how to respond to Dean, spontaneous combustion – burn dean up like a barbecue on the fourth of July or just politely move on from the topic, he grudgingly chose the latter – thinking he might have a better chance of getting Sam to say yes if his brother wasn't dead.

"So, help me understand something Dean, stomping through my front door – well that's a tad suicidal don'tcha think?" He stood silently somehow managing a more smug look that Dean could've ever made, playing with his hands, slapping them together and cracking each knuckle.

"I'm here to stop you."

"Oh," he chuckled. "So you're here to die."

"No you two-faced douche I'm here to gank your ass, then hang you up like a goddamn Christmas ornament!"

Lucifer made a tut-ing sound with his tongue and wagging his finger at Dean. "That would never work, I'm far to heavy to be hung on a **tree**, Dean." With a quick movement of his hand he flung Dean across the warehouse and into the metal wall. In seconds Lucifer was kneeling down to him, holding his face up by his chin – blood dribbling thickly from his mouth.

"You…You little mud monkey, you who refused my brother Michael and have now so miserably tainted yourself with Demon blood, a vessel no longer fit to be a vessel. The sheer audacity, Dean…its…well it's just astonishing." He tipped his head to the right, looking as if he almost sympathized with Dean and his predicament. "Now, in a few minutes your brother will come walking through that door," he glanced over at the one dean had entered earlier. "And he will then proceed to say 'Yes'. I will never lie to him, or to anyone – I will not trick him. He will do so upon his own free-will."

Dean's entire body was pulsating with pain, afraid if he moved his spine might actually snap in two, and if he was truly unfit to vessel Michael now – if he died, there would be no coming back.

"If you attempt to stop him I will kill him, over and over and over again, until he says yes, because in the end he will say yes. The question is not if anyone will say yes tonight, it is how…"

This statement lost Dean momentarily, and then he remembered something Gabriel had said to him months ago. ..

"_MICHAEL, THE BIG BROTHER. LOYAL TO AN ABSENT FATHER AND LUCIFER, THE LITTLE BROTHER – REBELOUS TO DADDY'S PLAN. YOU WERE BORN TO THIS BOYS, IT'S YOUR DESTINY, IT WAS ALWAYS YOU. AS IT IS IN HEAVEN, SO SHALL IT MUST BE ON EARTH. ONE BROTHER HAS TO KILL THE OTHER, FROM THE MOMENT DAD FLIPPED ON THE LIGHTS DOWN HERE, WE ALL KNEW IT WAS GOING TO END WITH YOU, ALWAYS."_

But maybe it wasn't as black and white as that; Dean let this idea float inside his noggin. The blood becoming more extensive in his mouth now, he had to spit it out.

Lucifer stared down at Dean, knowing where his train of thought was leading. He watched the face held up by his hand, the eyebrows knit together and the sides of his eyes crinkle as he realized what he had to do. The freckles across his nose and the clenched jaw, it all gave Lucifer the answer he'd been waiting for.

Dean was going to save his brother, he finally knew how and his heart swelled – all he could think of was that Sam was going to make it out alive. His entire life all Dean ever knew how to do was to look after Sam, hell, it'd had been his job to look after his baby brother. And in tribute to that purpose, the one thing he had to go home to at the end of the day, his brother. He knew without a doubt how this was going to go down.

Sam pushed the door to the warehouse open, the sound of the door squeak carrying throughout the building. At first Sam saw nothing, but then to his right he saw his brother laying crumpled against a wall, a small pool of red below his mouth, which was being held up by the kneeling over nick-Lucifer. Dean looked undeniably vulnerable, weak, and in pain – his eyes locked with his brothers for a moment. And he almost stopped his advance to the situation before him – he could've sworn he'd just gotten a smile from his brother. Nothing sinister or evil, but a smile that made his insides churn and his stomach and heart clench like in a vice grip. "HEY!" Sam's deep voice bellowed across the room. Before he had a chance to say anything else of get even closer Dean yelled, and Sam knew he was too late.

"YES!"

The room blared white and the white noise filled Sam's ears and overwhelmed him, he was flung back across the warehouse, somewhere he felt pain on his lower torso like he'd barreled into something – but he was knocked out before he could even comprehend what had just occurred.


	14. Chapter 14

**Author's Note: **So it's been awhile, so long that I forgot to do one of these in the last chapter, again, sorry. But I wanted to say that I'm really excited to be back into this story, I desperately want to finish it already. Also, Last chapter I said that "warehouse 13" was in Chicago, SORRY, I mean "Detroit". You know the place Lucy said it was always going to happen. Anyway, thank you so much for reading and it would mean a lot if everyone who reads this would review this chapter. Hell, it doesn't matter if its just two words – just let me know people out there are still reading. Maybe advertise the story to friends who like supernatural? But anyway, I do LOVE the long reviews they really make me want to keep writing. Thanks for the support guys, enjoy!PORTLAND, OREGON

She stood in front of the full-length mirror, admiring her reflection as she pulled the lapels of the white leather jacket closer to her form. Accentuating every curve of her body and more importantly, her supple breasts, which were framed beautifully in the black camisole underneath the new Chanel coat. She couldn't help the mischievous smile that was curving her mouth into a contented expression.

"How rude," she turned suddenly, her brown locks whipping around and over her cleavage as she stared playfully at the man – or rather Demon behind her.

"Luckily for you I don't have the Colt on me anymore."

"Well I saw to that."

The right side of Bela's mouth curved up, she crossed her arms and then raised an eyebrow. "And my payment?"

"You look snuggly in your new million door jacket. Doesn't look like you'll be needing my payment to much, will you?"

"Crowley," she said slowly her English accent making her seem in complete control of the situation, her gaze unwavering, like her smile. "You owe me 55 Billion dollars, do you honestly think I'm just going to walk away from that? Oh and I want American currency."

"You know," his raspy voice drawled out as he stepped closer towards her, hands clasped firmly behind his black Armani suit, his large black orbed eyes seemed to be staring straight into her soul. "I could as easily call my hounds now, take back our previous deal." She seemed unperturbed by this statement.

Bela had supposedly died a few years back, due to a deal she'd made with Lilth when she was still in primary school. But in her last minutes she had contacted the sprit world and found the exact Demon she'd need to enlist for her own survival. She'd made a deal with the King of the Crossroads Demons, the Colt for her Soul. And here she was.

"But you won't, now give me my bloody money. I plan to be out of this city in less than an hour and out of the country by sundown." She then turned back around and grabbed her purse off a chair.

Crowley glanced over at her bed; the Louis-Vitton suitcase was open, filled to the rim in designer clothing and various artifacts, which no doubt held some sort of magical significance.

"Right, Well consider it already wired to your account in London."

"Bela Lugosi?"

"What other name would you place it under?"

She smiled as she zipped up her bag, pulling it onto the ground, Crowley could've left by now but instead he watched her. It's not like he was in a hurry or his life was in danger…

"You know Crowley, You never told me why you wanted me to do what I did…" Bela's curiosity had peaked, that or either she was just bored so she decided to ask – Bela normally never asks about anything unless it benefits her.

"Let's just say I don't have to retreat to Canada to receive amnesty." He was curt, and with that he was gone. Bela stood in her doorway for a moment thinking about what he'd said. But then decided that what happened to the Winchesters didn't matter to her. She'd be in London in less than twenty-four hours and she'd be disgustingly rich, laying naked, in silk sheets – rolling in money.

"Fuck me, I'm richer than the Queen." She whispered to herself as she closed the hotel door.

Crowley had been a huge target for Lucifer and any demon as of recently, after his feelings towards Lucifer's rise to power got out he'd had a price on his head, with the reward of high-ranking demon status on it. Ironically the King of the Crossroads demon, the deal demon of demons made a deal with Lucifer himself, his life for a vessel to buzzlebub himself. He'd instantly know who could con the Winchesters easiest, Bela…Bela who knew the boys more intimately than most, a mind ninja in the strictest sense with a PH.D in emotional terrorism. Bela had used the internationally known weakness the brothers had on them, each other – family – love. She was also betting on the fact that regardless of which one she spoke to first it wouldn't matter since they're both so co-dependently self-sacrificing for each other. It's like they enjoy jumping off cliffs to their deaths to save the other, like they got off on this morbid sense of salvation.

DETROIT, MICHIGAN

"Dean!" Sam yelled again from his strangled position on the floor, his arms bent uncomfortably beneath him, Dean still wasn't moving and Sam was bleeding profusely.

Time was running out and unfortunately from the way Sam was laying he couldn't reach his phone, now that he thought about it…he might not even be able to use it, it would've broken when he rammed into whatever he'd slammed into earlier. Sam's long brown locks in his eyes, he huffed attempting to blow them away so he could see again, since the hair – at this awkward angle he was laying in did impair his eyesight.

…

Sam didn't know how long he and Dean laid there, how long he'd waited for Dean to wake up – he didn't want to consider the alternative to a motionless body other than sleeping…

He then found himself thinking about the past few months and beating himself up again for kicking Dean to the road, alone.

"_The way I see it, we got one shot at surviving this."_

"_What's that?"_

"_Maybe I am on deck for the Devil. Maybe the same with you and Michael. And maybe there's no changing that."_

"_Well, that's encouraging."_

"_But we can stop wringing our hands over it. We gotta just –" he huffed slightly between words. "-Grab on to, whatever's in front of us and kick it's ass, and go down fighting."_

"_I can get on board with that." One of his signature sideways cocky grins curved onto his face. "Here!" he tossed Sam something in his hand. Some opened his hands and stared for a moment, both eyebrows inclined upward in disbelief. "Really?"_

"_Knock yourself out." Dean slapped Sammy on the shoulder and then made his way over to the passenger's side of the car. "Plus, I could go for a little nap. Heh Heh." _

_Sam stood there at the Driver's side door after Dean had already slid into his own seat; finally Sam just cracked a smile and laughed, then joined Dean in the Impala._

_All was right in the world._

Sam clenched his jaw and shook the water from his eyes as he regained focus in reality. "Dean…" he said quietly, more to himself than his lifeless bro-

Where was Dean?

Sam's brown eyes darted around the entire span of his sight and Dean were…was…was just…gone.

"Look'n for me Buttercup?" Sam looked up, Dean was staring down at him, sam narrowed his eyes, and something was different. That smile…Dean had never smiled like that before…ever.

That grin-

It was so contented and smug-

It was pitying and dark-

The eyes where-

Hollow and distant-

Sam clenched his jaw again in frustration trying to push the only solution from his mind.

"Yes, Sam." He spoke slowly and his voice was measured – not Dean's voice at all.

"Oh god," Sam Moaned turning his gaze from this abomination before him, refusing to look at it, wanting to stay in denial so badly.

"Lucifer." Sam said, out loud – he needed verification, and he was hoping in his heart of hearts that he'd hear a stifle of laughter and then that arrogant voice that belonged to his brother saying he was messin with him. _"I'm only mess'n with ya, Sammy. Heh Heh, man you are too easy to fool."_ Sam heard himself choke back a sob, because he knew even as his heart demanded this response – he knew he wouldn't get it, his brother was now an echo.

"Yes Sam?" He said his name with his brother's voice but it sound so foreign on that tongue, as if saying that name was a first time experience.

"Sam…Come on now." His head tilted to the side, he was kneeling now, glancing over Sam's form. Sam's nostrils flared and he tried hard to remain calm. "What're you doing?" He then shh-ed Sam, it turned into more of a coo-ing noise, he then out stretched an arm towards Sam's back. Sam tensed up, ready for impact.

At first he felt like his back was lit on fire and then it was cold, his whole back tingled, like little bugs where scurrying over his back like a freeway and then…there was nothing. No pain.

Lucifer-Dean then stood up.

"I'll be seeing you around, Sam." He then began to walk away, then stopped. He pulled the old brown leather lapel to his noise, recoiling from the smell he then took the jacket off and threw it onto the ground, along with the undershirt and the necklace, Sam watched – still in his strangled position, having yet to realize he was healed and could move normally now.

The necklace, Dean's necklace, and the one he'd given to Dean at Christmas all those years ago…

"It's perfect Sammy, I love it…"

And Sam watched as it fell onto the discarded fabric, the very material that made Dean, Dean. The iconography that was his brother, Sam could feel the water pooling in his eyes again and his mouth frowned. The space between his eyes crinkled and he pressed the cheek with the mole on it into the concrete as he pulled his arms out from under himself, getting up and walking towards the pile of items.

Then he stopped, fists clenched, hanging below his green cargo jacket – his eyes narrowed.

"HEY, Ass-hat!" He said what Dean would've said, and damn it felt good to let go a little. Lucifer –Dean had his hand resting on the door handle; he let his hand drop and turned back around to Sam.

"This isn't over! Give me back my brother." Sam's was breathing hard and glaring, ready to fight.

"Sam…It's…over." He raised his shoulders slightly; he was in a black t-shirt and jeans. "I have my Vessel."

"I thought I was your vessel!"

He chuckled a little into his hand, and then looked back up at Sam. "It's all in the blood, Sam. It's what makes brothers…so why would you think that I couldn't as easily wear Dean to the prom as you?"

Then he was gone.

Sam stood there silently for a moment, mouth hanging open slightly and eyes shifting around the room…then he fell onto his knees and pressed his hands onto Dean's jacket and shirt, he then stared at the old leather jacket and the white cracks forming in the shoulders and elbows of it. He picked it up and brought it to his nose, and then dropped it instantly.

Sam's bottom lip began to quiver and turn up, his eyes squeezed so tight the tears blinded his sight and then he flopped onto the small pile of clothes and cried. He just cried. He'd failed Dean.

"_As long as I'm around, nothing bad is gonna happen to you, Sammy."_

He could hear his brother's voice in his head and then that only made him cry harder, he felt so ridiculous and childlike, but he couldn't help it. His chest began to fell like there was a brace on it, and he stopped breathing and then his sobs turned into a fit of coughing, due to oxygen deprivation. But when his lips went pink again he just started to tear up, he gripped onto the leather jacket, worn and loved fabric that was so much more than a way to be more, it was the only thing left of his brother, he'd failed. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean. Failed Dean….

"_Honestly, I think the world's gunna end bloody. But it doesn't mean we shouldn't fight. We __**do**__ have choices. And I choose to go down swingin'."_


	15. Chapter 15

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **It's been a long time coming. Honestly, I've known the ending of this story for years now. It was a serious case of not knowing how to exactly write what I wanted. I knew the main pieces just not all the small intricate details that would tie up this story. I checked my email a few days ago, and had some updates on this story, new people commenting and adding it to their favorites list. So here we go one last plunge into the supernatural. This chapter is one of the last three I will be submitting to Burn in Hell. Enjoy.

**NOW**

They were all saying it, no matter how many times he flipped the channels. He could not avoid it. This was it. This was the end.

Finally, he switched the television off, tossing the remote onto the un-used motel bed as he walked back over to the other side of the room. "Anything new?" he asked the man closest to him as he sat back down in front of his computer. The man, or rather the Hunter was pining up and organizing articles in some effortless attempt at a pattern. After a few moments of silence he finally responded, "No," in his rough no-nonsense voice, that was Rufus for you. "Look Sam," Rufus said turning his back to the articles and facing Sam and really making eye contact for once in the weeks since they'd met up again. "You've got to understand. All this," he motioned to the articles pinned up on the wall behind him. "Bullshit and you know it." He gave him a stern look before he continued; Sam flexed his jaw and sat up straighter in his chair, narrowing his eyes as he listened to Rufus. "There is no damn pattern to be drawn from this, this isn't some run of the mill demon, it's the goddamn creator of demons." Sam cracked his neck and huffed, "What? So are you saying this is pointless?" "I'm saying, that this Lucifer and he's wearing Dean to the prom, and sittin' around playing hunter and researching ways to kick Lucifer out instead of killing him is not only a waste of our time, but it's going to get us and every goddamn person on this shit spot of a planet killed!" Rufus slammed a pile of articles down onto the desk and walked away saying, "I need a drink."

Sam sat in silence for a moment, flexing his jaw, his nostrils flared. Finally he got up and slammed his laptop shut, which he'd failed to use. He looked across the table at Bobby, who had grown so used to the bitchin lately he'd decided to just sit and stay out of it. It had started happening so much between Sam and Rufus or Sam and Ellen or Jo and Rufus that Bobby was over it.

It had been right over a month since Lucifer had hi-jacked Dean's body. Castiel had found Sam and taken him back to Bobby's, the first week was hell. Sam didn't move out of his room or off his bed, except to use the restroom. He didn't speak either. But on the Monday of the following week, Bobby had looked back from his desk and saw Sam descending the stairs. "Morin Sunshine." Sam just stood there for a moment, smirked slightly while slipping on his jacket and said, "Let's get this bastard."

Another week had gone by and Bobby's had gone from a one man's whiskey tavern of demonology to ground control for 'Fuck Lucifer', the bad kind of fuck. Ellen and Jo had moved in along with Rufus who'd Sam met up with on a recent hunt he'd taken to try a stay busy when the Intel was slow to come. They should have known though, that Lucifer would have kept tabs on all the Winchesters' colleagues and friends. Because not a few days after they all began to work together a fire was started at Bobby's house in an attempt to kill them all in one blow. This of course was with the presence of half a dozen of high class demons. They all managed to gank the asses of those black eyed sons of bitches, but at the cost of losing about eighty-five percent of Bobby's library, and now living life on the run…

"So what do you think?" Sam asked, clenching his jaw as he waited for Bobby's response. "What'd ya mean 'what do I think'?" Bobby asked in annoyed disbelief. "Sam, I love you and your brother as if ya where my own! I ain't researchin ways to kill Dean, we're stickin with the plan. Now why don't we try and figure out what's next, instead of ringgin our hands over what happened?" Bobby took a swig from his flask.

"Yeah, alright. You're right, Bobby," Sam sat back down and opened up his laptop. After a few minutes of shifting through news articles on the web Sam spoke up. "Hey, um, this is weird," he said without taking his eyes of the screen, "Un explained disappearances in Portland…"

"People disappear everyday Sam."

"Yeah, but not on this massive of a scale," Sam turned the laptop around to face Bobby who looked up from his books and read, Sam continued, "It says over fifteen people from different areas around Portland at different times throughout the day just.." he shrugged his shoulders. "They just disappeared, never showed back up from break at work or never picked their kids up from school. Just gone.."

"you think.."

"Lucifer? Yeah. Who else?"

"Okay say it is Sam-"

"Of course it is!" Sam was starting to shake his head, he couldn't believe Bobby wouldn't side with him on this, it was obvious. Bobby crossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, waiting in silence.

"What?!" Sam demanded.

"You finished princess? 'Cause if you just listened for one Damn minute you'd realize I wasn't trying to argue with you, ya idget."

"Hilarious." Sam responded, in his sardonic one word banter he'd always enter once he realized he was being a dramatic.

"Now listen Sam," Sam turned his attention back to Bobby and crossed his arms, pursing his lips and frowning to one side slightly, ready for a lecture. Bobby rolled his eyes but continued, "Say it is ol' Lucy as the front man with all his backup singers. What are we going to do exactly? Run in guns blazing with who? Five hunters and a round of rock salt shells and a few sawed off shot guns?! With a flick of his hand he could send any one of us flying out a window. Hell for all we know he could snap his damn fingers and make us all spontaneously combust!" Bobby had started yelling halfway through his monologue. Sam had stood up and was leaning across the table, he responded as soon as Bobby went to take a breath. "So you acknowledge that I'm right about this, but you what? Just want to sit back and do nothing?! Bobby, aside from the fact that the world is about to go up in flames at any moment – what about dean!?"

That was the big question. If any other question was ever brought up at this moment, none would have been as important as the one Sam just asked. Because that's why they were all together. Sam, Bobby, Rufus, Jo and Ellen, they were all joined by a common drive a sort of morose passion, or as a memorial service for all they knew…

"What about Dean, Bobby?" Bobby didn't have a response he just sort of stared at Sam like he'd just been punched in the face. Sam looked like he was about to either kill someone or start crying.

"Sam," Bobby closed his eyes for a moment – trying to organize his next few words carefully. "Dean is why we're all here, I mean we all might have accepted the world will end. But at least we can try and get Dean back before it does…But what I'm getting at is this-" Rufus stepped back into the motel room just as Bobby was getting to his point.

"I interrupt something?" He asked, eyebrows raised and a Coffee in his hand, apparently he'd forgone the alcohol for some jet fuel instead. "Actually you arrived right on time."

Rufus took that as his queue to sit and he did, taking an empty chair. He sipped his coffee and watched Bobby, patiently. "Say Lucifer is in Portland-"

"Lucifer's in Portland?" Rufus interjected. "I'll update you on that later" Bobby responded quickly, trying to get back to his train of thought.

"That aside, we're all on the run. We haven't seen Jo and Ellen in a few days 'cause they got demons on their tails and can't come back here till they gank 'em. Rufus got coffee from the damn motel reservation desk again, which tastes like shit." Bobby added, and Rufus nodded in agreement as he took another sip and let a cringe of distaste flicker across his face as if he was drinking whiskey.

"Why are they after us? I mean, yeah kill Dean's friends and family to torture him. But track us? It's a bit-"

"Strange.." Sam finished.

"Portland too, it's too obvious. It's like the bastard wants us to know where he is."

"He wants us to come to him."

"So we're saying trap?" Rufus added.

Bobby nodded his head, Sam looked back at him and waited for his next words, "Yeah, and we're not going to fall for it. Because I figure if we're important enough to track, then we must be one damn big of a threat to still be on his radar."

"But then that means-" Sam started, he stood up and began to pace, and ran his hands through his long hair. He was smiling, the first legitimate one since before Dean was Lucifer-Dean. Rufus just chuckled and said to himself, "Damn."

Bobby pulled out his cellphone, clicking through his address book he found Ellen's number and gave her a ring. "Yeah, mission control is in for a move and I got an idea on how to throw those black eyed sons of bitches off your tail.."

Bobby had walked over to the bed on the other side of the room and began to walk Ellen through his plan. Sam finally sat back down and relaxed a bit into his seat. Rufus continued to sip that god awful coffee.

"First break through in.."

"Forever," Sam finished.

"So you know what this all means.."

Sam laughed, and looked at Rufus. He was looking at Rufus but he was thinking of Dean, of all those times he and Dean had shared these case breaking moments and the car rides after where seventies rock music blaring was the calm silence, the comfort that would lull one or the other to sleep in the passenger seat. Sam pulled Dean's necklace out of his jacket pocket and rolled it around between his fingers, smiling.

"Yeah, it means we're going to win."


	16. Chapter 16

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: **There will be more than three chapters left of this series. It's just too much to put in one chapter. I don't want to burn you guys out. Anyway, enjoy!

There was many ways this could have gone.

Each one a shade darker and more repellant than the last, he could have given up…

"_How'd you find me?"_

"_Your going to kill yourself, right?"_

"_I'm not going to kill myself-"_

"_No?...What the hell, man? Is this is how it ends? You just…walk out?"_

Or Lucifer would have finally worn Sam to the prom, like they had feared that entire year, Sam could have spent his last moments drinking gallons of Demon blood and successfully handed his body over to Lucifer fully charged.

He could have gone to hell, sent back to hell with Lucifer to a two person private suite for all of eternity.

And what where the chances he would get out? How would he function? His soul after all that would have been…decimated.

It didn't end any of those ways…

In fact, in his last moment of control, he had a moment of pure clarity.

Dean saw all the pieces on the board. Lucifer, Michael, himself and Sam's part in this whole seemingly pre-determined series of events. He'd seen Sam do what needed to be done, and ultimately fail, getting possessed by Lucifer. He saw himself clawing at the walls of reality looking for some loop-hole, trying to his last breathe to save Sammy.

He saw himself fail…

He saw all that was left of his family die, and the world around him engulf in flames and black eyes.

The only way to save everyone was to die.

And in that last moment, in that fraction of a second Sam and Dean looked at each other one last time, brother to brother, and then, the next second Dean was gone.

…..

Gone is such a definitive word.

Because Dean was not as much gone, as he was dominated, sex jokes aside, he was there and all. He watched and felt Lucifer kill that young waitress outside a truck stop diner, not even twenty minutes after he'd walked out of that warehouse from Sam. Felt his own hands rip into her, smelled and tasted the blood in his mouth as it splattered upon his face.

But it wasn't his face anymore, it was Lucifer's.

Dean Winchester was Lucifer.

Or rather, Dean Winchester's Meat suit was Lucifer's.

Those weren't the worst moments, the worst where when Lucifer got bored and decided to play mind games with Dean. One moment Dean would be in the room with Lucifer watching and listening to him kill people and the next he'd be in Lisa's house. He'd be momentarily confused, but would slowly make his way through the house tentatively, calling Lisa's name, "Lisa!" he kept reaching into his jacket for a weapon but there would never be one. Eventually he'd make it to the stairs and soon as his foot hit the first step and that creak echoed through the house, this feeling of immense dread would wash over Dean. At the top of the stairs, was a carcass, the remains of which could only have been Lisa's son Ben, Dean wouldn't scream or yell. He'd just fall to his knees, immediately paralyzed, wanting to cry but being unable to. He noticed ropes around Ben's wrists, and other obvious signs of torture…his death had come slow. Eventually Dean would remember Lisa, he'd get up and run to Lisa's room. He'd make it to the door but it was locked. He could hear her scream and began ramming the door frantically with his shoulder, but it wouldn't budge. He'd scream her name, "LISA!" ramming, scratching, kicking, and pounding at the door. He would get exhausted and collapse against it, all the while her screams had gotten louder and more frequent. He'd sit against the door and twitch each time she screamed, it would last for hours…

The door would finally crack open a bit making him jump, pushing himself up with his hands and knees he'd barrel his way past the door. Lisa laid on the bed, completely unharmed, he'd feel himself exhale in relief and go to walk over to her. But he'd reach this invisible wall between Lisa and the bed and himself. He'd press his hands against it, testing it. Suddenly the door behind him would slam close, and he just stared at it a moment. He looked back at Lisa, everything seemed fine till he saw her alarm clock start to push back from 3:41 am to 3:40 to 3:39 to 3:00 to 2:34 to 1:15 to 12:31am and then it'd stop. Dean clenched his jaw, letting his eyes slowly trace the entire perimeter of the room, nothing.

Then he'd look over again after a moment of private thought and then he'd see him.

He'd see himself, leaning against a table underneath a window with curtains billowing lightly in the wind. He was just standing there, watching her sleep…

Something would wake Lisa up and he'd mumble a gruff, "Hey," before she'd flip the light on and he'd grimace turning away from it, narrowing his eyes and looking away from her.

"Dean, I wasn't expecting you for a couple days..." she'd say sleepily, but still somehow through the exhaustion she'd seem pleasantly surprised. "Yeah, yeah I wanted to see you," he would then watch himself sit at the end of the bed, keeping some obvious distance between them.

"You son of a bitch!" he'd yell, in vain, to the other him in warning.

Something was bothering Dean about this other version of himself…something was off, he knew himself enough to know this and be very afraid for Lisa, he would focus on Lisa, seeing that look of worry In her dark eyes, "Are you okay?" she wanted to reach over to him, to lay a hand on the side of his face and turn him to her. "Listen-"

"What's going on?"

"It doesn't matter. But I need you to know, you and Ben…just uh, thanks…okay?"

Lisa would then try to reach over to him, and this look of fear flashed across his face, Dean had crossed his arms and slowly began to unfold them. He watched this other him on the bed, he saw the fear but there was something else…

It hit him like a freight train, the realization of what he was seeing.

Suddenly he'd have Lisa pinned against the wall, his hands pinning her shoulders. He slowly closed the gap between them, leaning in towards her…

It was bloodlust.

He was watching himself, yelling, throwing objects on the side of the room he was on at that invisible wall separating him from his monster self.

It was torture what followed, because he watched himself kill Lisa slowly, the worst part was the sick enjoyment he watched himself have as he drank her blood slowly. As this vampire version of himself had his way with Lisa multiple times, draining her enough to keep her under control but not enough to knock her out, and after killing her eating parts of her…and then playing with what was left.

He vomited a few times. By the time the clock on the bed stand hit 3:41am it was over. But Dean was leaning against a corner on his side of the room, his face stiff and clammy and his eyes dry and red from crying.

Then it would end.

He would be back in the hotel room with Lucifer, who'd be looking in the mirror at Dean, and this broken version of Dean would like back at this Lucifer version of himself in silence.

This was the three hundredth and forty fourth time Dean had experienced that particular scenario, at the end of it each time he'd remember how many times he'd seen it before.

At first he'd yelled back, "You sick fuck!" the second time he'd yelled again, the twentieth time he'd still yelled back. But when they'd broke one hundred he'd started to become silent, but he was still strong giving Lucy an ambivalent glare. But after about two hundred and fifty times he'd started to come back out of the scenario as he was at the end of it, crying and defeated. It was now at the point where Lucifer's conversations to Dean where completely one-sided. He would just silently sit in the room corner, head leaning against the wall, his eyes vacant and rimmed red as Lucifer went on about one thing or another.

This wasn't the only scenario he'd experienced…but it was one of the most frequent.


End file.
